


All The Best

by flawlesspeasant



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Slow Burn, eating disorder tw, suicide TW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2020-12-21 14:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 80
Words: 503,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawlesspeasant/pseuds/flawlesspeasant
Summary: After spending the entire summer away, Quinn is eager to get back to normal and make the best of her junior year. Excited to put everything behind her and start fresh, she struggles to establish a new normal. But when she's least expecting it, Quinn finds support in the most unlikely places and is forced to confront the very feelings that landed her where she is in the first place.





	1. Get Back

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn’t completely AU, but it is slightly AU because not everything I put in this story happened in the show.

It was somewhere between the ice cream shop and the farmer's market that I stopped paying attention. It wasn't like I meant to, she just started talking about all these things that I really don't care about and my brain was too busy soaking up all the familiar scenery to even pretend to engage with her anymore. The sun makes the window warm against my cheek and the trees all turn into little green blobs since she's driving well above the speed limit, but I don't mind. It's kind of dizzying, actually — and sort of making me sleepy the way everything just kind of blends together like that. Her voice is like mild background noise, second to the sound of the radio humming and going in and out since we're practically in the middle of a forest.

You never really know how much you miss home until you've been somewhere so different for a while. I never pegged myself as the type to miss anything about Lima but now that I'm driving through it after having been away from it for so long, I'm starting to feel comfort in the familiarity. Like how I know if I go down to the Lima Bean and order a caramel macchiato, it'll taste the exact same as it did two months ago. Or if I go down to Breadstix, their triple cheese pizza platter will always be a little too greasy for me. Sure, it's a crappy little two-mill town, but at least it's something I can always count on.

"Oh, and Quinn?" she turns to me this time when she talks, which is the only thing that drags me out of the trance the trees were putting me in, I think.

"Hmm?"

"Your school schedule came in the mail last week and the guidance counselor said if you needed to drop a class or two to take less credits, you can."

"I'll be fine, mom."

For the umpteenth time of this ninety minute car ride, her perfume makes my nose itch. She's wearing about three spray puffs too much, and about a pound of makeup. When I got into the car with my loose blue jeans and McKinley t-shirt, I almost asked her what the occasion was.

"I just don't want you to, you know, overwork yourself, Sweetie."

"I won't."

I don't know why, but when the car slows down so she can pull into the driveway, my stomach sinks to the depths of my body. And I feel a little bit hot all of a sudden. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard with the way she says "home at last!" and I really have to fight the urge to slap her.

Nothing looks different here. The driveway is still that same gray and black cobblestone, the gate is still that clunky white plastic. The yard's neatly groomed as always and Mom's carnations are in full bloom. That ugly yellow wreath with the honeycombs and bumblebees still hangs proudly on the front door, and there's still a chunk of the gold number three that marks our address missing from the time Frannie and I kicked the soccer ball at it. It's the exact same house on the exact same street in the exact same neighborhood of the exact same city of Lima. But something about it just feels so much different.

Mom's been watching me like a hawk and noticing the slightest changes in my moods, so I don't stare at the house and re-familiarize myself with it for too long. I jump out, head around back and grab the two duffle bags she left for me to carry in. She shuffles my smaller bag to the side of her body and fumbles with the code to open the garage door. She seems to have changed it since the last time I was here. Probably because Dad knew the code to get in. I don't see his car anywhere — just my mom's, mine and Frannie's — so I'm going to go ahead and assume he hasn't moved back in.

_Good._

No sooner than I dump my crap off at the door am I being pulled into the most awkward, body-swallowing embrace I've ever felt in my entire life. I thought my mother was wearing a crap-ton of perfume, but boy was I wrong. My sister's got her beat.

"Quinnie," the sound of her voice in my ear actually makes the corners of my lips turn up into a smile. I haven't seen her in a while, so I guess I actually missed my sister. Plus, one thing about her is that she has the most soothing voice ever. "Welcome home."

She pulls away and looks me up and down like she can't believe I'm standing in front of her. I'm probably looking at her the same way. Sometimes, it's hard to believe that she and I come from the same gene pool. She has the most perfect high cheekbones and the prettiest shade of brown eyes. When we were younger, her hair used to be so curly our mom couldn't run a comb through it. It's cut short and straight now, and she keeps it dyed brown. But still, she's clearly the pretty one. Hers is so… effortless.

"I missed you," she whispers through cherry red lips.

"I missed you too," I say, smoothing the loose strands of my hair back into my ponytail because something about my sister just makes me want to look like I stepped off a runway, too. I'm no match for her navy blue sundress and white wedge shoes, though. "How long are you staying?"

"Not long. I have to drive back tonight since classes start tomorrow, but I promised Mom I'd stay through dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Dinner. And no Dad here to ruin it."

"Thank god," Frannie and I both mumble that under our breaths at the same time and then it's moments like this when I do remember we come from the same gene pool.

"Come on," she motions towards the steps with her head. "I'll help you unpack."

We each drag a duffle bag up the steps and down the hallway and I've officially decided that so far, this is the least weirdest part about being home and it should probably be the most. I see my sister maybe once every thousand years but already, she's made me feel like this is the most normal thing ever. I guess it's probably because she's the one that's not staring at me like she's waiting for me to reveal some big important secret. She's not the one that's sneaking glances at me every five minutes or constantly asking me if I'm okay. She's treating me like I'm Quinn. Like I'm still sassy, smart, snarky old me. And it feels good for her to treat me like I'm Quinn because I really don't even know if I am Quinn anymore.

"So are you excited to go back to school tomorrow?" she asks, unzipping my duffle and shaking its contents onto my bed.

_School? Oh, that's right. I have to go to school… what year am I in again? I wonder… I wonder what everyone's up to… it's been a whole summer..._

"Eh," I shrug and sort through my clothes. "It's just another school year."

"Quinnie, it's your junior year! It's the year that everything counts. It's not just another school year. You've got your SATs and your college preps and your school selections."

"You're giving me angina."

She swallows a laugh and hands me a folded blouse. "It is stressful and a little overwhelming, don't get me wrong. But junior year is the time of your life. It sets the course for your whole future. You should be excited about that."

_Actually, it sounds absolutely terrifying. And boring at the same time. Why do I need to take all those tests and pick a school like that? I don't even know if I want to go to college anymore. I don't even know what I want anymore._

"I'm just trying to get through the first day, Fran," I mumble. Mostly to myself. But also to her.

After that, it's mostly silent. She folds one thing, I fold another. She puts them into drawers, I hang them in closets. I unpack my bags and bring back the life into my room that wasn't there for two whole months. It seems unreal that this is my room again. It seems like I'm in a place where I don't fit. Like I'm sitting in the middle of an inflatable pool and someone's just let the air out of all of it and now I'm sitting in the middle — big as can be — while the world around me is getting smaller and smaller. It's an uncomfortable feeling. One that makes me wish that I wasn't here; one that makes me long to go back to where I was before I had to make this my new normal again.

"Quinn?"

I look up from folding and meet Frannie's watchful eye. _Dammit, now she's looking at me like that too. I already know what she's going to ask. Everyone always looks at me like this before they ask. Before they —_

"Are you okay?"

_Told you so. I knew it._

"Mhm, I'm good. A little tired and hungry, but—"

"No," she starts and when she sits down on the bed this time, she pulls me down with her. "Like… okay, okay?"

"Frannie, I'm fine," I snatch my hand out of hers. "Really. I just wish everyone would stop asking me that. I'm okay. Truly. You don't have to worry."

_How would you feel if you were me?_

"Are you sure? Because you know if you want to talk… about… Beth, or anything, I —"

"I said I'm fine!" I don't mean to snap at her, but I don't feel guilty that I do. Because she has no right to even… _I said I'm fine. What more does she want from me? If she's looking for me to have some kind of mental break or lapse and have me come crying into her arms, she's wrong. I don't need to talk._

"Okay, okay," she tries to back track but it's too late. "I shouldn't have brought her up, I just —"

"No, you shouldn't have and I said I'm alright." _How many times am I gonna have to say that? _"Come on. Let's see if dinner's ready yet. I'm — I'm starving."

"Okay. But Quinn, if you ever… need anything… just call me, okay?"

_I really wish everything would just go back to normal. And that includes you not caring. You never told me to text or call you before. You never gave a rat's ass about me before. Why do you care now?_

_Is anything ever going to be normal again?_

* * *

I forgot how nice freshly shaved legs could feel. I mean seriously, I must look like a weirdo with the way I keep running my hand back and forth across my leg. It's making me excited to lie in bed tonight and just rub my legs all across my sheets. I'm just excited to go to bed in general. I know I have to wake up early tomorrow morning with school and everything, but really. I've never been more excited to just put on a fresh pair of pajamas and lie in one place for the night.

When I step out of the bathroom and onto the plush carpeted floors of the hallway, I take the time to scrunch my toes along it. Because feeling the carpet pillowed beneath my bare feet is another thing I forgot how good feels. It's really the little things.

Since Dad doesn't live here anymore, I'm not so conscious about walking down the hallway to my bedroom anymore. I guess that's one positive thing about being home; I don't have to put on a full bathrobe just to make a three-step transition from bathroom to bedroom anymore. I clutch my towel to my body and tiptoe my way to my bedroom. It sounds like Mom's still downstairs cleaning up the kitchen. I thought for a moment she was going to let things go back to normal again and scream at me for not helping her clean up the dishes after Frannie left, but no. She told me to go upstairs, take a shower and relax. I guess someday things will go back to normal around here. Maybe wanting the first day to be normal is just too much to ask.

Even after I toweled off and got dressed, it's only 8:43. I have seventeen minutes before I can lie down and go to bed for the night and I know I told myself I would wait until at least tomorrow, I know. It's really too soon to jump too far back into my old life. But I really just can't help myself. After all, it's been a whole summer.

So I grab my laptop off of my desk, fire it up and type **Facebook **into the search engine. As soon as I click it, my profile already pops up. I'm seventeen years old, going on eighteen. I'm allowed to look at Facebook. But still, I feel like I'm doing something wrong just by looking. I feel like I'm doing something that I have to sneak with. But it's not wrong to just want to catch up on everything I've missed… is it? I don't think so. So I start scrolling.

_Mercedes and Sam… not a thing anymore. Okay. Mental note to ask Mercedes why she finally broke up with Mouth of the South. Finn and Rachel… not a thing anymore either? What was this, the summer of breakups? He didn't really deserve… nevermind. Forget that thought, Quinn. Brittany's with… who isn't she with?Dear god, I can't keep up. Tina and Mike, okay I saw that coming. Not just because they're both Asian. Oh, look! Mr. Schue and Emma made it Facebook official! And they made it public so I don't have to be his friend to "like" it! Awww! I'll hit the "like" button. Mmm, somebody passed out at Cheerios camp. What else is new? Oh no, honey not that haircut… Santana, you're not fooling anyone with that. Everyone knows they're fake. Oh, Becky's still a Cheerio. That's nice. Ehh, Karofsky go to hell as usual. Okay but Kurt, that outfit is asking for it. Who's Blaine? He's actually half cute. This picture is actually really cute. I'll "like" it. Hmm, no Puck? Says he's been inactive since July. Wonder what his summer was like. He probably found a house to haunt. Hm. Seems like that's it. Well, just one more…_

My fingers tremble as I type **S-H-E-L—**

"Quinn?" my mom opens the door and honestly, I'm grateful for the interruption because I don't know that I'd have been able to go through with that…

I slam my laptop shut with quickness because like I said, it feels like I was doing something wrong…

"Yeah?"

"You left your phone downstairs in your other bag. Here." she lies it down on my nightstand. "You heading to bed now?"

"Um," I glance at the clock on my dresser and it reads 9:02. A little past my bedtime, actually. "Yeah. I'm tired."

"Alright. Sleep with your door open."

"Mom, I —"

"Quinn, please. Door open."

"...cracked."

"Deal."

Part of me wishes she wouldn't have come in here and interrupted what I was about to do on Facebook. But the bigger part of me is glad. I think maybe that would have been a little too much for my first day back home; it probably would have kept me up all night.

And I'm going to need all the sleep I can get before I go back to school tomorrow.


	2. Ever The Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarity purposes:  
Anything italicized are Quinn's inner thoughts. Anything italicized AND centered are flashbacks.

* * *

* * *

There was a point in time where I liked all the attention on me and now that I'm about a year older and a little bit wiser, I can't believe I'm that same girl. I used to be able to walk up the hallway with my head held high and my nose in the air because everyone just kind of bowed their heads and made room for me, like I was the queen of England or something. I liked that. It seems so far away now — like a distant memory — but I remember the sense of importance and security it brought me to strut like I owned the place. Funny how that me and this me feel like two totally opposite entities now.

I can feel everybody looking at me, like their eyes are boring a hole through the flowers of the Victoria's Secret backpack Frannie gave to me last night. It's pretty, don't get me wrong. The pastel pink background goes really nice with the tropical flowers all over it and I'm sure it was really expensive and all, but it's a bit loud for my first day back. I wish I had a plain white one or a plain black one and honestly, if my head was on straight, I probably would. But I kind of forgot I had to come back to school today and I know I'll have a book or two to drag home at the end of the day, so Frannie's loud backpack was what worked.

Anyway, I hate this. I hate feeling everyone looking at me. And though I don't really hear very well through the hushed whispers, I know they're talking about me.

_Quinn Fabray, she's back. Where's she been all summer? Probably cooped up in the house all summer taking care of that baby. She wants everyone to think she gave it up for adoption but we know the real story. I'm surprised she doesn't have chunky white vomit all over her skirt._

Maybe I'm just paranoid.

In true we-had-all-summer-off fashion, the floors are shiny and still a little slippery from the fresh coat of wax, so my brown flats kind of make me slide but it's nice because I don't really have to pick up my feet to get around. It's weird, because I kind of missed this place. I didn't even realize it had a certain smell until now. It smells like crappy yellow notebook paper and new erasers. I didn't miss the cycle of everybody knowing everybody's business, but still. I guess I missed the part of this that feels normal.

It feels so normal that I don't even have to lift my eyes to find my locker. It's like muscle memory kicked in. Three steps past the water fountain, one step to the side and I'm there. 56-49-11-13. The code to unlock it kicks in from my memory too. I know everybody's gossiping and I'll have to tell a lie or twenty by the end of today, but really, I'm just glad to be back. I'm glad to —

"Hey, Quinn!"

Every bone in my body locks up and freezes. I even stop breathing. This isn't really a voice I remember and I don't have a conversation calculated in my head for this. I seriously spent every second of curling my hair this morning going over potential conversations and my responses but I didn't prepare for this. At least I don't think I did.

Slowly, I turn my head until —

_Oh, it's just Mercedes._

"Hey!" I don't mean to sound as tickled and thrilled as I do, but that's what I am. I admit, I didn't really think about her that much while I was away, but now that she's standing here in front of me, I really did miss her. So much that I don't even care when she pulls me into an awkward little side-hug. I awkwardly side-hug her back.

"Girl, where were you all summer? Things got all crazy and I missed having the one person I knew would keep my ass in check," she asks.

_I practiced for this._

"I was in Pennsylvania," that rolls off my tongue smoother than I expected. Maybe because it's not a complete lie. "I spent the summer with my dad, actually. Since he and my mom split, it's kind of the custody arrangement. I spend summers with him."

"Oh? Well I texted you like a billion times. I was starting to think we weren't friends anymore," she replies and to my relief, she sounds more accepting than angry.

"Yeah, I know, a bunch of people were telling me that. But he um, moved out to Lancaster. He lives on this big farm now with all these chickens and stuff with his new girlfriend, so I had like, NO cell phone service whatsoever." I can't tell if she's buying this or not… "I couldn't even get on Facebook, Mercedes. It was miserable."

She laughs and that's when I know I'm in the clear. "Yeah, I bet. It must've been nice, though. To just get away like that. But we have GOT to catch up. Who do you have first period?"

"Odenthal. Organic Chem." I rattle that off quickly but that's only because I made it a point to mesmerize my entire schedule last night and this morning because I just don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to myself with anything, and that includes stopping in the middle of the hallway so I can look at my schedule.

"Me too! Walk with me," she says as she holds her arm out.

I loop my own arm around hers and the two of us walk up the hallway together and for the first time since I stepped foot inside McKinley High School, I don't really notice whether people are looking at me or not. Mercedes starts telling me the story of her and Sam and how their summer romance turned to back-to-school tragedy, and I'm listening, I swear.

But I can't help noticing how much lighter I feel braving everything with my best friend on my arm again.

* * *

All day so far, it really has been feeling like I never left. The walks between classes, the bullying my way to my locker when the three-hundred pound jocks wouldn't get out of my way. Even down to the grayish slop the lunch lady slapped down in the middle of my tray and the watery milk I tried taking a sip of because I forgot money to grab a water from the vending machine.

The wind blows just enough to send the loosest strands of my hair all over the place and even though it's eighty-something degrees outside, it's nice underneath the shade of my tree. Sure when the wind blows, it kicks up the scent of the garbage can a few paces away from where I sat on the steps. And sure, the concrete is a little bit cold under my butt since the fabric of my yellow sundress is kind of thin. But this is McKinley at its finest. Weather nice enough to eat outside, conversations of everyone catching up from the summer all just running together. And it's too early in the school year for there to be any proper drama just yet, so everyone is kind of mellow.

The football players talk about the meeting after school today, the art club talks about some interpretation that I don't understand. The baseballers bet the soccer team that they'll win more games but when they're on the brink of an argument, they both agree that they'll definitely win more games than the basketball team and everything settles. And the Cheerios… so regal… sit in the middle of everything, lapping up any and every single speck of attention thrown their way. I can't help but think that I should be there. My seat is still open. It's the one furthest away from the trash can and closest to the football players so I could eavesdrop on anything that Finn said. It's strange how even though I'm not there anymore, they still don't sit in my seat.

Even though I kind of wish I still sat with my Cheerios and the wind gusts up yet another whiff of the smelly garbage, I feel mellow. I feel at peace.

It's the most at peace I've felt in a while. I haven't felt this kind of relaxation ever, I don't think. Or… well… I haven't felt this at ease since… since…

_It's complete darkness like I've never felt. The door's shut, the light's off, and now I'm just waiting for everything to kick in. I'm not sure what it's going to feel like when it does, but I think it is starting to because my eyes feel so heavy that I can hardly keep them open anymore and my legs feel that staticy feeling like they do whenever I fall asleep._

_And everything around me is quiet, too. I usually sleep with the fan on, so I hear that. And on the rare occasions that the fan is not on, my mom keeps the air conditioning system on practically all year so I can usually hear that. But tonight, I turned it all off. No fan, no air conditioner. So it's dead silent. Not even my thoughts exist anymore._

_And really, this is all I ever wanted. To be able to lie down without any racing thoughts and sleep, I mean. Every night since she was born, I've stayed up until ungodly hours of the night because the thoughts in my head wouldn't shut up long enough to let me go. All I wanted was to turn my brain off for one night, just to get a decent amount of sleep._

_I know the internet isn't always the most reliable thing out there, but I read on the Mayo Clinic site that those pills in the exact right combination were the way to go if I wanted to sleep. The Mayo Clinic is pretty reputable…_

_Maybe I should have —_

"Man," her voice follows the loud thump of her backpack dropping down on the concrete, and I don't know which one of those made me jump. "I did not miss McKinley lunch. Michelle Obama was my girl and all but screw her and that healthy lunch initiative."

I glance at the little red apple and compact turkey (I think) sandwich on Mercedes' tray and it makes me laugh at how they think that would fill anybody up. It looks like prison food.

"I told myself I was going to try the tuna noodle casserole but," I lift my own tray up and stare at the gray sludge. "I think I'm gonna pass."

"It should be illegal to feed this to children. What I would give for a slice of pizza right now," she sighs and I just grin. To be honest, I'm still kind of stuck where I was a second ago. "You okay, Quinn?" _I guess she noticed. _"You seem a little… spacey."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just… tired, I guess," I even feign a yawn. "It's hard when this is around the time I'm used to waking up."

"It's 12:45."

"I know, but look. When you're on a farm, there's really nothing better to do besides sleep."

"True that," she says with a mouth full of sandwich. "Why didn't you wanna sit with the Cheerios today?"

"Eh," I look back over at their table and… they _do _seem a little… fun. Molly's showing everyone something on her phone and they're all laughing and Santana is busy fixing Brittany's ponytail. I do kind of miss them… "I guess I just don't feel like I'm part of them anymore."

"Well are you at least going to the Glee Club meeting after school?"

"After school?"

_Oh no, that's another thing I didn't prepare for. I didn't think anyone would ask me anything about my plans after school. I didn't rehearse anything for that!_

"Yeah, it's for old and new members looking to join. It's just about when tryouts and signups are and stuff. But Mr. Schue said it's kind of mandatory."

"I um…" _It's just Mercedes. She'd get it if you told her. Maybe the truth isn't so bad… _"I probably won't be there."

"Why not? You _are _gonna join this year. Aren't you?"

"I dunno, I…," _thinking of an excuse is so exhausting… _"I have to tutor after school today, so there's that."

"It's only the first day of school?"

"Look, I don't want to join stupid Glee Club this year! Okay? Just leave it alone."

_That was harsh. But… I just wish she would stop prying so much… I know she'd understand if I told her the truth, but I just…_

"But Quinn," she starts and I know she's about to ream me out. All I can do is listen. "We're gonna take nationals this year and we have so many new ideas and plans and… and Glee Club was there for you last year when everything happened. I can't believe you're not —"

"I'll be there," I mumble, gathering my stuff to get up. She doesn't try to stop me when I walk away and I can't stop thinking about how mad she's going to be when she realizes that I just lied to her about being there.

Look, I know she's right. She's very right and honestly… there's really no place in the world I'd rather be right now than in Glee Club with everybody. But I really can't go and I wish she would understand that but she won't understand that without me telling her but I can't tell her so really… this is all just a big mess. I have a pretty good excuse for missing Glee Club today. But what about tomorrow? And the day after? And even worse yet, what if I actually did join? I'm trying to do better here and that just… wouldn't be good. For me or for them either. I just… I can't join Glee Club this year. I can't. Not now. Not ever. Maybe next year, when I'm stronger.

If there even is a next year for me…

**X X X**

I've been dreading final bell all day. And not just because that's when the hallways are flooded with everyone I managed to avoid all day, but because I really don't want to go home. I don't want to stuff my books into my locker and fill my backpack with my Stats workbook so I can take it home because Mr. Newman is the only asshole who assigned homework today. I don't want to grab my jacket and bully my way up the hallway just to go out through those double doors and have everyone see that my mom picked me up from school today because she won't let me drive my car just yet. I just don't want this day to be over already.

But yet, I can't wait for it to be. I can't wait to go home and lie in my bed and clear my head from everything that happened today. How is that possible? How is it possible to feel two totally conflicting things at the same time?

I just can't believe that I made it through an entire day without anything major. I can't believe I made it an entire day without seeing _her_. It's not like I actively avoided it or anything, it just didn't happen. And I'm now I'm starting to wonder if maybe I just made her up. Maybe she was just a figment of my imagination this whole time. I know that sounds crazy but I'm starting to feel that way these days.

Even though a part of me doesn't want to go home, I have to be quick with the way I go back to my locker and gather my things because if I linger around too long, I'll catch Mercedes and I really don't want her to know that I lied to her about going to Glee Club because she's my friend and I really need her right now. And it's not like I lied to be mean. So that counts for something, doesn't it?

I shove my afternoon books in the top and grab my Stats workbook from the bottom, then my jacket from the top hook and I think I'm making good time, but I must be moving a little too fast because the stack of posters that I have yet to hang slips off the middle shelf from my jacket sleeve hitting them and they all fall out and flutter to the floor. So of course, I have to drop down to my knees and pick them all up.

Honestly, I could probably take these all home. I'm not in the mood to decorate my locker and I doubt that I ever will be this year. I only brought them because I thought maybe I would be, but no. So I just collect them all up and prepare to stuff them away in my backpack.

_Last year's Glee Club picture, Lady Gaga, Madonna, Panic! At The Disco…_

You know that feeling when something hits you in the back or the stomach out of nowhere and you feel like you can't breathe?

It's like a thousand icicles just pierced my chest and took my breath away and I can't think. I can't even remember where I am. And all I want is to put it down but I can't remember how to work my fingers so I'm just stuck. I'm stuck holding it and looking at it even though my vision's starting to blur over with tears. So blurry that I just can't help but think…

_Everything around is just flat out fuzzy and all I can make out are white lights. Even my hearing is fuzzy, like someone shoved cotton in both my ears and I'm expected to hear like this for the rest of my life._

_I can make out my mom's voice calling my name over and over but when I blink, it's like she's further away. As if my vision has anything to do with my hearing. It's like they're both connected and the more I can't see, the more I can't hear._

_She's screaming my name now and I think she wants a response but I can't give her one because my mouth won't even open. It's like my jaw is too heavy for me to work it. Saying anything would suck all the energy completely out of me._

_Then something does. Something parts my jaw for me and from the little bit that I can feel, I know the feeling of acrylic fingernails against my lips. It's like those hazy moments between sleep and awake and I'm clinging onto sleep as much as I can when I really should be awake. Is that my mom? I'm guessing so because she's the only one around me that wears acrylics like this. She pries my mouth open and there's a soreness in my jaw that makes my head ring._

_She won't stop saying my name and now that my mouth is open, I suppose I could give her a response but I can't because there's something in my mouth. Cold. Salty. Fingers?_

_Fingers in my mouth. Down my throat. Everything still fuzzy and blurry and downright —_

"Whoa," someone says after they knock into me and finally make the picture fall from my hands.

I don't look up to see who ran into me, because I don't care. I stuff it — the picture of me, sweaty and haggard in that hospital bed holding that little bundle — into my backpack with the rest of the posters and stand up with legs that feel like Jell-O.

"Sorry Quinn, I'm just…"

His voice trails off, but only because I'm not listening. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I should have stayed home today. She said she could have gotten my work from Miss Pillsbury and I could have started next Monday but I really did think that just diving in was what was best for me but maybe I was wrong. God, I can only imagine what a day it would have been if I had seen _her._

"...hurrying because there's a football meeting at the same time as the Glee Club meeting and I—"

"It's fine, Finn," I mutter, mostly to myself, and sling my backpack over my shoulder. I can't even look him in the eye. Not whenever I know that he's the one who _she…_ nevermind. I have to go before I let the tears still collected in the rims of my eyes fall.

I even brush past Mercedes on my way out and I don't care that she knows I lied. I don't care that she asked me where I was going as I walked.

I just care about getting the hell out of school for the day.


	3. Alone

She offered to stop at the house so I could change my clothes. She wasn't around this morning before I left for school, so she didn't see what I wore today until I came out and got into the car with her. She took one look at my yellow sundress, light brown flats and curled hair garnished with a white bow and said "I can run you home so you can change before we go if you want. You'll probably want to be more comfortable." In hindsight, I guess I wish I would have taken her up on her offer, because now, even with my jacket draped over my legs, I still have goosebumps. At the time, it seemed kind of stupid to waste gas by driving all the way across town from school, then driving back across town to get here when she could have just done it all in one trip. I didn't think there was any issue with my dress, so I told her not to worry about it and we could come straight here.

That was the last thing I said to her, and I wonder if she notices. My gut is saying that she does, because she keeps trying to talk to me and even after I give her a half-assed shrug or a head shake, she keeps trying. Even in the supermarket when she asked me if I wanted Rice Chex or Corn Flakes, I shrugged and she was quiet for a minute, but then asked me again if I wanted strawberry yogurt or blueberry. It's not like I'm trying to ignore her and I swear I'm not purposely staying mute. It's just that after everything that happened at school today, my mind is filled to the brim and sometimes I think that if I open my mouth and talk, everything's going to come out.

In the car on the way here, I almost told her that she was right. My head was pressed against the window and I watched the road go by beneath us and for the first time, I was able to just think about today and being back at school and it almost made me cry. I almost told her that she was right about me not being completely ready to go back to school. And I was going to ask her if she could call Miss Pillsbury tomorrow and tell her that I decided to take the first week off after all and settle in. But I had a moment where it became clear to me that I couldn't do that. Because I firmly believe that if I do take the first week off… I may never go back.

"Are you cold, Quinnie?" she asks, cutting through the silence that's almost awkward since it's only me and her left sitting here in the waiting room.

I start to shrug my shoulders again, but catch myself before I do. I'll give her a real answer this time. Just so she knows that I'm not giving her the silent treatment or the cold shoulder.

"A little," I admit. "But I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I could run to the car and get you another—"

"That's okay, I'm fine." I adjust my jacket over my legs and look at the clock hanging above a **NO CELL PHONES **poster. We were five minutes early and now it's five minutes past my appointment. Isn't that crazy how doctors expect you to be on time, then make you wait?

"You can go to the car if you want. Or even go home. I'm… good here," I offer only because with the strict no cell phone rule here, she must be bored and my appointment is for half an hour.

"I'm alright. I want to be here, honey. Really, I do."

As soon as she says that, the door across from our row of chairs finally opens and a tall, skinny brunette nudges her glasses and pokes her head around the corner.

"Quinn?" she has the most high-pitched voice I've ever heard in my life. I really hope she's just using that voice until she gets to know me because if that's her real voice, I swear I'll walk out right now.

My mom stands up at the same time I do, and I shoot her a very literal "what the hell?" look. She easily realizes her mistake, and sits back down but I can tell this is really hard for her because if I didn't know any better, I'd say that there are some tears in her eyes when she looks at me.

"I'll be right here, honey," she clears her throat and I just nod her off.

I hate to admit it, but I am kind of nervous. I have this huge lump in the back of my throat that only gets bigger as I follow this woman down the hallway. If they made a size smaller than a double zero, I swear she'd be it. She's so skinny that if she turned sideways, she'd probably disappear. And her hair falls a little below her neck, but it's super thin and there are lines of gray all seared through it. I wonder if she knows she has a run in the back of her stockings. And I wonder if she knows that when you're _that _skinny, you shouldn't wear pants that are form fitting like that.

"Go on in and have a seat," she steps aside and uses her head to point to the inside of a room off to her left.

The walls are a dark shade of tan, and the only light comes from a pole lamp behind her desk. There aren't many pictures hanging around, but the ones that are hanging up are pictures of little inspirational quotes. The carpets look really clean and the maroon area rug that rests in the middle looks like a pillow. There are two chairs in front of her desk, one metal one that folds and another with a thick cushion in the middle. I take the one with the cushion. _Thank god it's warmer in here._

"Okay, so hi. I'm Bailey," she rattles off as she folds up the metal chair and leans it against a silver filing cabinet. She plops down in the seat behind her desk and takes her glasses completely off. "Lucy? Is Lucy fine?"

"It's Quinn, actually." I cross my legs and swallow hard in hopes of getting that lump to go away.

"Okay, Quinn. Great. Sorry about that. So I see you're a transfer from Oakland Pines, the Pennsylvania branch. Jessica sent over all your paperwork and gave me a little rundown on how your sessions with her went and the things you were working on."

_Jessica. I haven't thought about her since I've been home. Damn. I miss her. She was the only one that made things make sense. She just understood everything. I didn't even have to explain it, she just got it. I wish I were talking to her again…_

"But today, I'm just going to get to know you. Okay?"

"Yep."

"Did you like it at Oakland Pines?"

"I dunno," I shrug. "I guess."

"A buddy of mine that I graduated college with, Chase? He works at the Pennsylvania branch and he tells me a lot about it. It sounds like an amazing treatment facility."

I just nod my head at her because I have that feeling again. That feeling where it feels like if I open my mouth to say anything, everything's just going to spill out and I know that if there were ever a place for everything to spill out, it's right here. But still. I'd rather not look like a complete spazz. Especially on the first day.

Really, she's just making me miss it. I remember when Mom was driving me there and I was looking out the window at all the farmlands and the Amish people in Lancaster. I remember thinking that I was going to absolutely hate it. Let me be the first to say that first impressions are often wrong.

"Was that your mom out there with you?"

"Mhm."

"What's your relationship with her like? It seems like she really cares. She's super supportive and —"

"It's fake." That's the clearest thing I've said to her thus far, the only thing I didn't mumble under my breath, and the shock clearly shows. But I'd rather call a spade a spade.

"Fake? How do you mean?"

"It just… feels fake."

"What feels fake about it?"

I concentrate on a speck of lint in the middle of the carpet and stare at it until it gets fuzzy and my vision becomes double. It's just easier if I don't have to look at her while I'm talking, I find.

"She never cared before. I dunno why she cares now."

"Uh-huh," she scribbles that in a notepad. She tries to be discreet about it but I noticed. "What about your siblings? Do you have any? Are they —"

"I have a sister named Francesca that I see once every blue moon but now all of a sudden texts me every second of the day." When I first started seeing Jessica, she asked these kinds of questions too. _Just cut to the chase._

"Well what do you two talk about?"

"I dunno. Nothing, really. I don't ever really know what to say to her. We're practically… strangers," I fumble with the loose thread on my jacket now. That'll keep me occupied for a while.

"Did you two grow up together?"

"I mean, yeah. We used to be close but then she moved off to college and then… yeah. You know."

"I see." To my surprise, she doesn't write that down. I wonder what the method to her madness is. I'll figure her out by the end of the month. I had Jessica all figured out by the end of the week but this one seems like she'll be a bit of a tougher nut to crack. "What about your father? How's he?"

I bite my lip in a legitimate attempt to keep my thoughts on him to myself, because I just know that if I blurt out _anything _about him or my relationship with him, it's going to open up another can of worms with this woman and I'm really not in the mood to get all deep and into my feelings but I feel it coming up like vomit in the back of my throat I feel it coming out and I can't stop it I just feel it rising up and rising up and rising up until —

"He kicked me out when he found out I was pregnant and hasn't spoken a word to me since, so…" It just rolls out of my mouth, but the good news is that the lump in my throat is gone. Bailey's quiet. Reflective, I think. Or wait, maybe she's about to ask me about —

"So… you had a baby?"

_I knew it. I freaking knew it. First of all, how dare she assume that I had a baby. What if I had miscarried? Or gotten an abortion? Second of all, she has NO right whatsoever to bring her up. She doesn't know me, how dare she talk about her?_

I was still a little bit freezing but now all of a sudden, I'm hot. Like burning up and sweating, actually. But it's weird because the way I feel outside matches the way I feel inside. I've only known Bailey for about fifteen minutes but I already want to kill her. I've never felt this much… rage. It's like it replaced my blood and now it's pumping through my bloodstream, white hot and so thick that I can't even control it. It makes my head thump. And my legs shake.

"Tell me what that's like? Being a mother?"

"We're not talking about her, okay?! Don't you talk to me about her! Don't EVER talk to me about her! I will leave right now and never come back, I swear to GOD, I swear to him! I didn't come here to talk about her, I came here for ME. She has NOTHING to do with this, I refuse —"

"Quinn, okay. Okay," she holds her hands up as a sign of forfeit and looks at me the way my mother looks at me when I drop a swear word around her. Like she doesn't believe my voice is capable of screaming like that. "We won't talk about that. That's off limits. Maybe we'll work up to it."

_I doubt it. And if you ever talk about my kid again I promise that's the last day you'll see me._

"Are there any other topics that you'd rather not discuss yet?"

I start to tell her about _her. _I start to tell her that Jessica is the only one I talk to about _her_, but I don't. Because if I see _her _tomorrow in school… that's something I'll definitely need someone for. Bailey or not.

* * *

"Do you want red sauce or white sauce, sweetie?" she interrupts me, but I was only reading my English Literature syllabus so I guess I'll let it slide. I'd be a lot more irritated if I were doing real homework. "To go with the ravioli?"

"Red's fine," I mumble and turn the page onto the back.

I gotta admit, this is a little weird. I needed to cool down after talking to Bailey, so I told myself that I would sit at the kitchen island and unwind by reading through all my syllabuses and getting my binders organized. But right after I sat down and opened up my backpack, Mom came strutting in and opening the fridge and some of the cupboards and before I knew it, the kitchen was turned into some whirlwind of a faux Italian restaurant. I can't tell you the last time my mom actually made dinner and here she is, two days in a row making me food that doesn't come from some fancy chef that dad hired or a takeout box.

I know she's dying to ask me how my session with Bailey went but before she even put the keys in the ignition to drive us home, I told her that I didn't want to talk about it and she promised me that she wouldn't make me. So here she is, stuck wondering and bound by promise to not ask.

It all just feels so strange to me because if someone opened up our curtains and snuck a peek into this house right now, it would seem… dare I say it… normal. Like a typical mom making dinner for her daughter while her daughter goes over things for school. But this isn't what it always is. This isn't normal Quinn and Judy Fabray. Quinn's usually here by herself and Judy's off at country club and doesn't even know what classes Quinn's taking. Now she can recite my schedule forwards and backwards and she's home more often than not. This is just weird.

So imagine my relief when the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," Mom says as she licks some sauce off her thumb.

"No, don't. It's… probably for me anyway."

I slide off my barstool, adjust the pair of sweatpants that I threw on when I got home, and drag my feet to the door. If I had to guess, I'd say it's Mercedes. Not that she told me she was coming over or anything, but it's almost 5:00 and the Glee Club meeting was over at 4:30, so that gave her enough time to go home and drop off her things and come over here to ream me out for lying.

The bell rings once more and before it's even finished ringing, I pull the door open. And sure enough, Mercedes is there. Lucky for me, she doesn't look too angry.

"Hey," I nearly whisper.

"Hey," her tone is just as monotonous as mine.

I step aside and let her in, and sometimes it's like me and Mercedes share this telepathic bond of some sort because I just give her a look and she already knows to start climbing the stairs to my bedroom. She sits at the edge of my bed and I close my door behind us, then sit in my desk chair.

"...You mad at me?" I just ask to get it out of the way. I mean if she is, isn't it best to just get that on the table right up front?

"For telling me you were going to be there or for completely blowing the club off?"

My eyes fall to the floor. _Okay, I do feel a little guilty. Maybe I should just tell her the truth about why I couldn't come after school today…_

"Nah," she shakes her head and relief floods my body. Thank god I didn't lose the only friend I'm sure I have.

"You're not?"

"You've been kinda out of it all day. I kinda knew you weren't gonna show up. We kept your spot open, though. You _are _gonna join. Aren't you?"

"Was Puck there?"

_Word vomit. Again. That was horrible timing. Now she's gonna think that I'm just trying to avoid —_

"So what, you blew the club off just because you want to avoid Puck?"

_Knew it._

"No, I'm just… wondering is all. I haven't seen him and he hasn't been on like, Facebook or anything, so." _Bad save. _"Was Mr. Schue mad that I wasn't there?"

"Nah, he gets it. He wasn't expecting you either."

"He wasn't?"

"No."

_Did he talk to Miss Pillsbury? She's the only one who knows where I was this summer and that's only because we had to tell her since she's the counselor… she probably told him. They're boyfriend and girlfriend. Why wouldn't she tell him?_

"How was Rachel?"

_Word vomit. Again. Jesus, Quinn. What is wrong with you?_

Feeling _her_ name roll off my tongue actually hurts a little. Like my stomach just twisted a knot and the universe gut-punched me and gave me a cold, hard reminder that she's actually real. Because after refusing to speak her name and not seeing her at all today kind of made it feel like she didn't even exist anymore.

"Rachel?"

Hearing Mercedes say it back to me hurts a little more. Salt in the cut.

"...Yeah. I um… don't have any classes with her and didn't see her today."

"She's fine, I guess. A little more annoying now that she and Finn broke up."

"They broke up?!"

_Too interested. You're too interested. Cool it, now. Before she figures something's up._

"Yeah, at the beginning of summer."

I want to ask why, but I don't. So instead, I -

"Are you sure Mr. Schue wasn't mad at me? For ditching?"

"Quinn, no. I swear. He gets it. We all do."

_You all do? You all get what? Nobody can possibly get what's going on with me… I don't even get what's going on with me…_

When two knocks sound at my door and then it opens, neither one of us are surprised to see my mom. In fact, I was wondering how long it would take for her to come up here and interrupt us just to say hi to Mercedes. She couldn't have come at a better time.

"Hey Mrs. Fabray," Mercedes waves. That's why my mom likes her. She's the only one who speaks to her when she sees her.

"Hello, Mercedes. Are you two going to come down for dinner?"

"Yeah, mom. In a second. Just wait."

"Alright. Hurry, it won't taste good cold."

She shuts the door and leaves us alone again, and silence fills the air between Mercedes and me. It's like a silent game we play. A game of who's going to break the silence first. I win, because -

"I just meant that we all understand if you need a minute to just get over everything, you know? You went through hell and back last year and if you need to recover, that's fine," she says. "But shutting everyone out isn't going to do any good. We all want to help. _I _want to help."

_But if I told you, you'd look at me like a freak… I just know you would… I can't tell anybody…. I can't… is just… too much…_

Tears make the corners of my eyes sting, but I hold them back as best as I can.

"I'm fine, I promise. I… only skipped Glee Club because I wanted to come home and take a nap. I was tired. I'm not sure I'm going to join Glee Club this year. I don't think I'm going to join _anything _this year. Not even Cheerios. Everything got so messed up last year and I just want to get back on track and focus on school. Y'know?"

Again, silence falls between us. And usually, with Mercedes, silence between us isn't awkward. She's one of those people I can sit in silence with for hours and still be comfortable. Neither one of us ever feels the fill it. But this time… awkward doesn't even cover it. Mercedes breaks it again. This time by getting up off my bed and heading towards the door.

"You know Quinn… whatever you're going through… you don't have to go through it alone."

And with that, I'm glad she's gone. And I'm glad she closes the door behind her because the way I need to cry right now is just so embarrassing and I don't want anyone to see it.

_That's just it. You don't understand._

_I __am_ _alone in this._


	4. Breathe

It's not until I'm lying in bed at 8:25 halfway watching Family Feud and waiting for the clock to strike 9:00 so I can go to bed that I realize I should probably try to kick the schedule I was on back in Pennsylvania. I guess in some ways, the schedule is the last thing I have left of that place to hold onto and in a way, I want to keep it because if I'm being honest, those two months I spent in Pennsylvania were the only two months I ever felt like I had a handle on my life. It was so simple; just a schedule they made me and all the other girls follow every day in and day out. Even on weekends. Just a stupid little simple schedule. Yet, it made me feel like I had so much more stability.

I guess it was just nice to feel like I could count on something.

But now that I'm back home, I should probably try to get myself off of it or at least not be so dependent on it. After Mercedes left, I went downstairs and struggled through dinner with Mom. I finished reading my syllabuses and even folded a load of laundry. When it was 6:30, that's when I told myself that I could go take a shower and then when I got out, I got everything ready for school tomorrow. And since then, this is where I've been. In my bed listening to Family Feud while bouncing back and forth between different apps on my phone.

I don't have to follow the schedule anymore. So while I'm yawning every five minutes and fighting to keep my eyes open, I realize that I'm stupid. And I reach over with a lazy arm and push the power button on my remote. Then plug my phone into the charger. Then roll over on the side I'm most comfortable.

_Tomorrow, I'm going to tell Mercedes. I've made up my mind about that. For one, it's just going to feel so much better having someone who knows everything and for two, I can feel better if I stop lying so much. Plus, it'll probably be nice to have someone to talk to about all of it. Right now, the only people in this world that I could breathe a word to are Mom, Franny, Miss Pillsbury and Bailey and that's not a pretty good lineup. I'll tell Mercedes. Yeah. I can trust her. I know I can._

_...But what if she thinks I'm weird? Or crazy? What if she decides that I'm just not someone she wants to hang out with anymore and then she goes and spreads it all around school? I can't think of anything worse than the entire school knowing that I spent the entire summer in a psych ward._

_Or worse yet, what if she asks me why I ended up there? I could tell her what my mother things is the reason and the reason why I did whatever I did, but I can't tell her all of it… can I? I really can't tell her all the things me and Jessica talked about and all the things that Jessica made me realize about myself. She really might not accept me then._

_Maybe telling Mercedes is a bad idea…_

_I can't believe Puck's in Juvie. I mean, I can because where the hell else is he headed? But I still can't believe it. He always seemed like, invincible to me or something. Like no matter what he did, he would never get in that amount of trouble. Or at least if he did, he'd charm his way out of it somehow. I wonder what he did. I wonder what it was that was the last straw. And I wonder when he's getting out._

_I bet Mr. Schue knows about me too. I know it's against some kind of law for Miss Pillsbury to talk to him about the students, but I just know in my heart that she did. If they're boyfriend and girlfriend, I'm sure it's come up. That's another reason why I can't join Glee Club. When I walk in there, he's going to welcome me with open arms and it's not because I'm a wonderful singer like __her_ _and an amazing dancer like Brittany. It's because he knows jay poor pathetic Quinn did a stint in a psych hospital and she needs Glee Club so much to build her back up. Not going to happen._

_And I wonder when she and Finn broke up. I wonder how. I wonder why. I wonder who broke up with who. Was it mutual? Did she cry? She probably cried. If I had to guess, I'd say he broke up with her. She's not strong enough to break up with him. No, she's way too weak. I know it's none of my business. But I just want to know if she cried and if she did, how hard? And who comforted her? Kurt. Probably Kurt. Definitely Kurt. He'd understand. He lost Finn too at some point._

I crack a smile at my own head, then roll over to the other side. I don't know why it's so hard for me to fall asleep tonight, but I think it's because Mercedes gave me a lot to think about. But if I don't go to sleep soon, I'm going to be extremely cranky in the morning, so I'll try again. Harder this time.

I close my eyes.

_This should be the most normal thing in the world, shouldn't it? People do this every day, don't they? It's just a name. It's six stupid letters to type in, then a little tap on a magnifying glass because how many people in this area have that name? Not many. She'll pop right up and then all I have to do is tap on her and then it'll all be done. I'll have all my answers and I'll look back and realize it wasn't that bad. Right? It's normal. I can do this. It's no big deal. People do it every day._

_But I can hear my heart beating in my ears and my thumbs are so numb that I don't feel my phone screen beneath them each time I tap a letter. And my throat's all closed up and my nostrils are too and I can't breathe. I can't even look at the screen. Why does it feel like I'm doing something that's about to lead to my death?_

_I've been wanting to do this for weeks now. I just never have the courage. I felt so brave tonight, like I could take on the world and so I thought that I'd better do the one thing I've been so afraid of. And here I am; chickening out._

_I have to do it though. The only way I'll get any answers or closure is if I just…_

_ **S-H-E-L-B-Y** _

_Okay, there. I typed it in and hit the search button. I did it. And just like I suspected, there aren't many Shelbys in the Lima area on Facebook. She pops right up. The very first result. I know it's her, not only by her face being in the avatar picture, but also because I caught a glimpse of blonde curls in the avatar with her before I looked away._

_Maybe I shouldn't do this. Maybe I'm not ready. Maybe I should do this in school or something, like when I'm in study hall and there are twenty other people around to keep me from letting tears fall down. This is probably the cruelest form of torture I can even dream of. So really, it makes no sense that my thumb goes over to the very first search result and taps on it too._

_I'm here now. I did the part I spent the last twelve weeks and two days too scared to do. So why should I stop now?_

_I know her Facebook page has loaded, because the lighting on my phone's changed and I can tell that without even looking at it. I'll just rip the Band-Aid off real fast. I'll do it._

_My eyes fall on the screen and as soon as they move, two splashes of tears make perfect circles on my screen._

_I wipe them off with my quilt, then look again._

_She's… she's…_

"_Me."_

_I surprise myself when I talk. And down comes several more rounds of tears. But what I said is true._

_Even from the picture, I know her hair is soft. She's only four months old and my God, she has so much of it. It's kind of straight, but there are some curls there without a doubt. They don't really lie down and that's kind of like my hair, isn't it? She has my hair, doesn't she? Mine lies down now but when I was younger, it didn't. It looked exactly like that and it was that color too, wasn't it? Like… like cornsilk. And those little beady eyes. Why is it that they look so ugly on me but so beautiful on her? They're just as big and round as mine, aren't they? I even zoom in on her eyelashes… they're so long. And curly. And her lips are so pink and heart shaped and little and tiny and petite and perfect and…_

_I have to put my pillow over my face to muffle my cries because they're coming out so loud and obnoxious that I know my mom can probably hear._

_How is this even possible? Some days, I really don't even know how I'm alive. It feels like my heart is outside of my chest and I'm hollow and empty but I still wake up every morning._

_I regret it. Oh God, I regret it. I didn't think I would, but I do. I swear I thought everything was just going to go back to normal if I didn't have her and I thought that it was the best thing but it's not. Nothing's normal and it's not the best and I wish every second of the day that I didn't do it. How can the best thing be for her not to be with me? And if it's the best thing, why does it hurt so bad?_

_And nothing's normal. I feel hollowed out and empty where she used to be and my mind constantly goes to her, even when I don't want it to. And I can't shake the feeling of there being someone out there in the world that looks like me and IS part of me but I don't know her or see her. How does anyone live like this? How does this not eat them alive? How do I go on every day knowing that she's out there and I'm here and this isn't the way things are meant to be?_

_I could have done it. I know I could have. I was just being stupid and selfish and I wanted to be me again. I wanted to be a Cheerio and popular and I thought that if she wasn't here, I could but I can't. I can't and now look at me._

_I miss her so much and I don't even know how that's possible. I don't even know her. I held her one time. One miraculous time and I miss her so much that everything inside of me just aches. And it's like I can still feel her. On my chest and inside of me, too._

_I could have done it. Mom would have watched her while I was in school and then I'd come home every day and fix her a bottle and hold her and rock her while I did homework. I wouldn't be able to be a Cheerio or in Glee Club but who the hell cares? If I ever needed a break, Puck or his mom would've taken her but it would be rare. It would be hard but I could have done it. I could have._

_Why did I do this? Why? And as I sit here and continue to torture myself by scrolling… Shelby's not even miserable. Not one bit. I know it makes me horrible but I was just wishing that maybe she felt it too. Maybe she felt that this was a horrible mistake too. But she doesn't. She posts everything. Bath time, bedtime. Snack time, tummy time. She's not miserable. She loves it._

_She sees her every single day and me… well the only time I get to see her is in my dreams._

I have to sit up with my back against the headboard because I'm pretty sure I can't breathe again. I even put my hand over my heart to see if it's still beating because I swear this is what dying feels like. I'm trying to do those things that Jessica taught me — the whole in through the nose out through the mouth thing — but it's not working. It's not working and I can't breathe again.

_I just want to see her. And not through some stupid little Facebook pictures, either. I want to see her and feel her warmth against my body like I always do in my dreams._

_I know I just took four or five, but they're not working. I should be asleep by now._

_So I reach over on my nightstand and grab the bottle. When I sit up to swallow them with the cup of water next to my lamp, the room is shaky and everything's kind of warped but it's okay. I stuff a couple more into my mouth, a gulp of water, then swallow._

_I'll be sleeping soon enough and dreaming of her smiling at me and drooling on me and jabbering and I'll be happy._

_Sometimes, when it hurts this bad, I grab her blanket. The one they wrapped her all up in after I had her. I never washed it. And it know it sounds gross, but it still has a little bit of blood on it here and there but I don't care. It always makes me feel a little bit closer to her when I have it._

_So again, I sit up and everything's dizzy and weird but I don't care. I start to go over to the top drawer of my vanity where I keep it for nights like these and I don't know how when everything's all blurry, but I manage to grab it. But I don't quite make it back to my bed because I'm finally sleepy._

_And on the floor is where I pass out._

I seriously can't breathe. Seriously. But I don't think it's the kind of can't breathe that it was that night. No, I feel more like I need to throw up or something. Like my stomach is clenching up and any second I'm going to vomit everything I ate today onto my bed.

So I get up, a lot like I did that night, with my back kind of bent so I'm hunched over. Only this time, I don't go to my vanity. This time, I drag my feet down the hallway and flick on the bathroom light.

When I pull up the toilet lid, grip my hands around the seat and open my mouth, nothing comes out. But I still feel like I need to. I still feel like…. like everything just needs to come out. My stomach is still clenching and my heart is still beating out of my chest. And my throat feels all swollen and gross but nothing is coming. But everything's fine, because I know how to solve this.

I solve it with two fingers launched to the back of my throat and abracadabra. Just like that, everything — the ravioli from dinner, the brownie from after I got out of the shower, the two glasses of iced tea — all make an appearance in the toilet.

_Wow, I feel so much better._

It feels like I just threw some emotions up, too. My heart and my head don't feel quite as heavy. That was almost… therapeutic, it seems? I don't know. Either way it goes, I feel so much better and so much lighter now.

So maybe after I flush the toilet, wash my hands and brush my teeth…

I'll finally be able to sleep.

* * *

"So really, it's just like a way of measuring. So if you hear someone say, for example, 'his IQ is several standard deviations above the norm for his age', this is what they mean. Standard deviation is, in a nutshell, a way of measuring."

Mrs. Kessler drones on and on and on and usually, I have no problem staying awake during Stats class, but I didn't sleep very well at all last night and I'm really struggling. Seriously, I'm almost asleep with my head resting in the palm of my hand when the phone rings and she goes all "Miss Fabray, you're wanted in the guidance office."

_That _wakes me up.

I shuffle my book and notebook into my backpack, sling it over my shoulder and weave through the sea of desks to get to the door. Maybe I'm just paranoid, but I think everyone can tell that I slept like crap last night. Jeans and a simple shirt aren't normal for me, but when I rolled out of bed this morning I really didn't feel like finding a good ensemble. So skinny jeans, white flats and an old frilly white blouse is what I threw on.

The hallway is like a ghost town. There's nobody and nothing around, save for a Join Celibacy Club! flyer that somebody ripped down.

_Celibacy club. Ha._

Anyway, I already know what Miss Pillsbury wants. She probably wants to tell me that she knows my dirty little secret and blah blah blah and really, I'm not looking forward to anything she has to say, but I am glad she got me out of Stats and woke me up a little bit.

_Here goes nothing._

I turn the knob and walk right into her office. And to my surprise (and irritation), she's not alone.

_Bailey_, of all people, is sitting next to her with an eager looking grin on her face. They both look like they're so proud of themselves and really, I have to fight the urge to leave.

"Quinn," Miss Pillsbury smiles at me first. "Sit, sit."

I hesitate a moment, but sit anyway and avoid eye contact with both of them. Pillsbury slides me a pamphlet that says "So You're Transitioning From A Treatment Center?" I purposely don't take it.

"Bailey and I were talking over the phone yesterday and we both decided to ask you if maybe you'd like to be seen in school," Pillsbury continues.

"Instead of at the office. McKinley actually has a contract with our services and if you'd like, we can pick a period of the day that is good for you and —"

Bailey only stops when I stand up and grab my backpack. I'm not staying here to listen to this. _If anyone — ANYONE — finds out that I'm seeing a shrink… and if my SHRINK comes to school…._

"No thanks," I mumble as politely as I can.

"Quinn, wait, you haven't —" Pillsbury tries, but I don't let her.

"No," I look them both in the eye this time. "No. School is… school is off limits. Look, I'll come down to the office every Tuesday, I'll sit and talk about my feelings with you. But not at school. Not here. ….I have to get back to Stats."

Neither one of them stop me when I leave. I think they get the picture without me explaining it to them. I know they were just trying to help make it easier for me instead of having me drive all the way across town every Tuesday for half an hour but school is just a no. This is the one place that nobody treats me like I'm a mental case and I really need it to stay that way. Furthermore, I really don't need people to know I see a shrink and I think that if every week in, let's say 6th period, I was being called down to the guidance office, people would catch on.

I wouldn't have minded staying for the rest of Stats and telling Miss Pillsbury about Oakland Pines and what it was like all summer but now, I'm literally rushing to get back to Stats.

Rushing so much that I don't notice somebody coming out of the bathroom. They don't notice me either. Because the two of us run right into each other; nearly bumping heads.

And when I finally tune into my surroundings to see who I owe an apology….

_She _makes my body turn to stone.


	5. Dear Hate

It's like flashing red lights are going off all inside my body and all I can see in front of my face is **DANGER. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. **Nothing in the world could have prepared me for this because two months in intensive therapy out in Pennsylvania didn't even do the trick. I mean Jessica and I both talked and she got me to the point where I was able to rehearse a few things to say to _her_, just enough to carry a conversation without seeming like a complete and total spazz. But there was nothing in our sessions that prepared me for this.

Nothing prepared me for the moment my feet turned to stone and planted me on the ground. At first, I'm thankful for the way they feel like weights that pin me to earth because in an instant, I could float away off into space and not even notice.

Nothing prepared me for the moment my brain turned to mush and words were stuck like peanut butter in the back of my throat, or for the way a bead of sweat rolled down the middle of my back and made me shiver. Standing in front of _her _was like confronting death and me, in the middle of a forked road had to pass her to move onto safety.

I don't know why _she _holds so much power over me. Especially when I worked on not letting her have it so hard in therapy. But here I am. Still stuck. For crying out loud, I can't even think her name. I'll say it sometimes when it just falls out of my mouth like slobber from a baby's. Those are the times when I let my guard down. But I won't dare think it. She doesn't have a name in my head. Because the second I give her a name in my head...

Is the second I lose the last bit of sanity I have anymore.

"Oh, Quinn," lucky for me, she speaks first. A tone so soft and mellifluous that for a moment, I think she's belting out another one of her tunes. And I think, _dear god never stop talking._ "Sorry, I just, wasn't paying attention." She talks more at the ground than to me.

"Isso —," I start and there the peanut butter words come flying out in a jumbled mess. Like Jessica told me once in therapy, I try again. "It's okay." _Small victories. _"Neither was I."

"Shouldn't you, you know, be in class?"

"I could say the same to you." Sometimes, I really don't know where my snarkiness comes from when I talk to her. I'm naturally snarky, this I know. But she's probably the one person I don't want to be snarky with but it's like…. with _her_, I just can't turn it off. With _her_, it's amplified by about ten thousand.

_Try saying her name. Jessica said that might help._

"Look, Rachel —"

"I miss you in —"

We both start to talk at the same time, so we both fall silent at the same time too. She gives me a look between my eyes and somehow, I know that she means that I can continue. But I give her the same look back and put the ball in her court because really, I don't want to be the one to speak first again. Not whenever I feel like I want to throw up. Not whenever there are still sirens wailing in my head telling me to proceed with caution.

"I was just going to say that I missed you in Glee," she says as she rocks back and forth on her feet. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that she's speaking from fear. And if that's the case then I want to laugh so hard because she's scared while talking to me, probably because I'm awful to her, but it's me who's the coward. It's me who's afraid of breathing more than one kind word to her at a time.

The silence between us is so heavy that it's awkward and I know it's because it's my turn to speak but I can't put together a full sentence with her. I really want to run the other way with my tail between my legs and give up.

I hate that I notice the littlest things about her. Like how there's a piece of string hanging loose from the sleeve of the black and white checkered cardigan she has draped over her blouse but if she pulls it, the whole thing will pop a seam. Or how the corners of her eyes aren't crinkled so I know her smile isn't genuine. And how the hemline of her skirt is crooked so I know she added that slip in herself, probably to seem more sexy but she didn't really need to do that. And also the way her lip gloss isn't glossy anymore except for in one spot but if I tell her that she might think I'm weird for looking at her mouth while she speaks.

_It's so much easier to hate her. Liking her and __really_ _liking her is just so… exhausting._

"Are you going to join? We left a spot open for you."

I shrug. Still nothing from my mouth. The peanut butter words are back and heavy and hard in my throat and I know she's thinking that I'm being my usual self but I swear, I'm not. I just can't get my brain to work properly. It's like I glitch whenever she's around me and I haven't quite figured out the solution. I could just give her a "goodbye, Rachel," and I know that she'll get the point and let me go, but I don't want to. How do I tell her to stay when my mouth wants to tell her to go? To get out of here? To leave me alone for the rest of my life and never talk to me ever again because I don't want to feel the way I feel now and she's the only person in this world who's ever made me feel this way?

"We don't have to make this awkward, Quinn," she breaks the silence.

"What?" I say it almost as soon as she stops talking. More like a reflex than anything because in that moment, it really felt like she read my mind.

"Between you and me," her tone is gentle, which makes it easy to let my guard down a bit. "It doesn't have to be awkward." _Is she really reading my mind right now? Or did she somehow pick up on the fact that she makes my insides feel like jelly? _"I know my birth mom adopted your baby, and —"

"Just shut up right there."

_Relief? Yeah, kind of. I guess I'm glad she doesn't know my big fat giant secret but in a way, I wish she kinda did. Maybe then I'd stop walking around so damn emotional all the time._

"I'll see you around," I mumble and breeze right past her.

"I know how you feel," her words stop me dead in my tracks. "Kind of. About adoption. I mean I know the situations are very different, but still. I was adopted and you….I'm just saying, I'm willing to listen. If you wanna talk."

I don't bother saying thank you, even though I want to. It's like my head and my heart share two different souls but they're stuck in this body of mine and every single day, they battle and sometimes I don't know which one is going to win. Today, I think my head won. Because my heart is telling me a million times that I should stay there and talk to her because it's the only thing that'll make me happy. But my head wants me to save face; hold onto the little bit of the old Quinn Fabray I have left in me and walk away from her.

And by the way Mrs. Kessler's door closes behind me as I go back to Stats class, it's clear that it's the one victorious.

* * *

The day before I left Oakland Pines, Jessica told me that when I got home, I was going to start noticing all the little ways my life has changed since Mom and Dad split. I told her that she didn't know what she was talking about, because Mom and Dad had split before I had my baby, which was a while before treatment, and my life wasn't all that different. She told me it was different, I just didn't notice because I didn't give myself enough time to feel.

Well now that it's 4:00 on a weeknight and I'm sitting on the couch in the good living room with a bag of popcorn in my lap, I think I'm finally noticing the difference. Really, I just thought that lounging around eating popcorn while watching The People's Court was my attempt at being a normal teenager but I feel anything but normal now. I guess it's because a year ago, this wouldn't even be allowed. A year ago, nobody was allowed to sit in the good living room unless we had guests and there was absolutely no eating whatsoever in here.

Funny how now that Dad isn't here, Mom just doesn't care about the rules.

_Her outfit was really nice today, actually. She matched that checkered print really well with th_e —

When the show cuts to commercial, I pick my phone up off the couch beside me — mindful of not getting popcorn butter stains on the upholstery — and open up Instagram, for a change.

Since that run-in in the hallway during third period earlier, I've been forcing myself to think of other things when I think about her. When I think about _Rachel. _Sometimes I do a good job at forgetting that she exists, mostly when I'm doing something else. But every ten or fifteen minutes, she infiltrates my thoughts and I have to do something, like open up Instagram, and get my mind back off of her again.

But it's like the universe is playing cruel tricks on me today because the first thing I see when I open up my instagram app is that rachelbberry posted a picture and as my luck would have it, it's a selfie of her and her self-proclaimed BFF. Not that I have anything against Kurt. Honestly, I can see why the two of them get along so well. But if you ask me, he ruined a perfectly good picture.

_Maybe it won't be so bad if I just…_

My thumb goes down to the heart in the left hand corner and I tap it. There. I liked it. Because I do. I _do _like the picture...

_Now I know everyone who follows me will see that queenquinn liked rachelbberry's picture and honestly, I know nobody will think that it means anything other than me scrolling through and nonchalantly liking her picture but what if someone does think it means more than that. What if someone figures it out and thinks that I liked it because… I… like… her?_

_But I don't like Rachel. Because that makes me the G word and I'm nowhere near that. I'm not. I don't care what anyone says. Even Jessica was wrong. I'm not the G word. Or the L word. Or even the B word. Not __that_ _B word, either. I __am_ _that B word sometimes. I'm not the Bi word, I mean._

_What if somebody thinks I am…_

_But look at that picture. Look at her lips and her nose and those perfect chocolate brown eyes…_

Mom plops down on the couch next to me and in the great decision of Should I Like Or Unlike Rachel's Picture On Instagram, Mom's presence makes the decision for me.

Just as quickly as I "liked" it, I go back and "unlike" it.

"Whatcha watchin?" Mom's question sends a brief surge of irritation through my body. It's short-lived, though.

"People's Court," I mumble.

"Oh. How was school?" She scoots a little closer to me and the irritation creeps back up.

"It was fine," I mumble again. "Tiring."

"I bet." Finally, to top it all off, she reaches over and strokes her hand through my hair and I'm sorry, but _that _is the last straw.

"We don't have to do this," I snatch away from her and scoot to the other end of the couch.

"Do what, Quinn?" She seems irritated with me, but I don't care.

"Pretend that we're something we're not. We kept up the act long enough, you can stop now. You don't have to pretend that you're a good mother and I don't have to pretend that I'm a —" she winces at the "good mother" comment, so I take a moment and redirect. I didn't mean to make her feel bad, but hey. Truth hurts. "We can just go back to normal. Okay? You don't have to play with my hair."

"What's normal, Quinnie?" There she goes, right back to that little "I'm Miss Perfect" tone. It's so annoying. Especially when I know that it's all an act.

"Not you playing with my hair," my voice is so vicious that I just can't help it. "We can go back to the way things used to be is all I'm saying."

"Well forgive me, but the last time things were 'the way they used to be', my daughter attempted suicide. So forgive me, Lucy. But no. I will not go back to the way things used to be. Things are changing around here."

"Is that what it takes for things to change? Do I have to die, or almost die, for you to realize that things need to change? Well forgive me, Judy. But I don't want that kind of change. Not if I have to die to get it." I get up off the couch, fully prepared to go to my room, but not until she knows this. "And by the way, I _didn't _try to kill myself. That's the conclusion you jumped to because you feel guilty. That's not my reality. And I'm not going to therapy today because I don't need it."

I think that last line is what really throws her over, because she was fully seated until I said that. Now, she's on her feet and facing me even though I'm halfway to the steps already.

"You're going to therapy, Quinn. I don't care if you don't feel like you need it. You… you don't know what that was like for me to find you like that. I was so…," she clears her throat when it becomes froggy from tears. "Anyway, you're going to therapy and that's final."

"Well sorry to bust your bubble, but I'm not. And that's that."

With that, she lets me go upstairs to my bedroom but as I'm stomping up the steps and preparing to slam my door, I do hear her calling after me. And I want so badly not to listen, but it's kind of hard not to when there's nothing else in the house but the sound of her voice saying:

"You're not eighteen yet and I'm still your mother so as long as I'm your mother, you'll do as I say and go to therapy!"

**X X X**

Mom had a point about me not being eighteen and having to do as I say, so it's really no surprise when I end up back in Bailey's chilly waiting room staring at the **NO CELL PHONES!** sign again. We rode the entire way over here in silence, but Mom came in with me again for a second, just to talk to Bailey. She pulled Bailey right aside as soon as she came out to call me back and two of them have been by the door talking for about five minutes. They're trying to be secretive and whisper, but I think that's kind of stupid because I already know they're talking about me. What else do they have in common? What else could they be discussing? The weather? It's been crappy and rainy for two days straight. That's not a five minute conversation topic. Sports? My mom's never watched sports a day in her life except for me and Frannie's soccer games and even then, she was on the phone most of the time. Politics? My mom's a hardcore Trump supporter and I'm pretty sure I saw an "I'm With Her" poster in Bailey's office so I highly doubt they're discussing that.

I thought it was illegal for Bailey to discuss anything with my mom. Even though I'm not eighteen. Anyway, I avoid eye contact with my mom when they finally stop talking and she walks back over to me.

"I'm going to go run some errands and pick up dinner while you're here," she says that to me with nothing but firmness in her tone but joke's on her because I don't even reply or acknowledge her. I just get up, smooth my skirt down, and follow Bailey back into her office again.

"So," she starts before we even sit down and before the door is closed. "Thank you for coming to see me again. I was worried that after our mishap about me coming to see you in school would make you shy away from coming, but it didn't. I'm glad to see you."

"Uh-huh," I sink down into the chair across from her.

Bailey clears her throat as she sits, "Even though I can't discuss with your mom the things I speak with you about in our sessions, she can ask me to mention some things to you and talk to you about some of her concerns."

"Yeah," I nod and concentrate on the same piece of lint on the carpet as I did the first time I came to see Bailey. She really ought to invest in a vacuum.

"And one of the concerns she just aired with me is the fact that you seem to be in denial about somethings."

I just keep nodding.

"Most notably about your suicide attempt. She seems to think that you're in denial about what really happened."

"I'm not. She just thinks that I tried to kill myself and I really didn't, so."

"Then why'd you end up in Oakland Pines? If you didn't try to kill yourself, Quinn?" She sits back in her chair and looks at me like I'm a puzzle she can't find the missing piece to. "Seems unlikely you'd warrant a stint there if you didn't."

"Because my mom thought I did. She was convinced I did. So… yeah."

"But you didn't try to kill yourself?"

"No."

"So you took a total of…" she quickly glances in my chart.

"575mg of Zolpidem for… what? Fun?"

"I just… wanted to sleep is all. I was having trouble falling asleep and I wanted to."

"Seems unlikely they'd waste insurance money and keep you at Oakland Pines if you weren't _truly _suicidal is all I'm saying." I shrug as an answer, which irritates her, I can tell by the tone of her voice. "Can you tell me what made you feel so much that you wanted to sleep to avoid it all?"

"The fact that I was sleepy."

"You know what, Quinn?" she takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose to calm down. "You need to be more realistic about your situation. You need to be more serious about your recovery and why you're here and you need to _participate. _Now I can sit here for hours and talk to you until I'm blue in the face about all the reasons why someone — professional — diagnosed you with both clinical depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and generalized anxiety and wrote out Trazodone and Zoloft scripts for you, and I can give you all the tools to help manage all these things but nothing is ever going to work unless you give me a chance and WANT it to work. Okay? You have to PARTICIPATE."

"I don't need this, though! I don't know why I'm here! I went to Pennsylvania, I _PARTICIPATED_ for an entire sixty days there, I talked to the therapists, took my medicines, went to group, all that. I'm all fixed now. I'm better. So I don't know why I'm here."

"If that's the way you think therapy and recovery works, then Quinn —"

"Can I go now? Because I really think this is just a waste of your time and mine."

"Need to use the office phone to call your mother?" She's getting smart with me, but she doesn't know that I'm Quinn Fabray and really, I'm the queen of smartass remarks.

"No thanks, I have my own," I smile at her in the most sarcastic way and stand up.

"Quinn, wait," she loosens up for a moment. "Here. If you won't give my methods a try and you're not willing to participate with me, then here. Try this." She opens up her desk drawer and produces a red composition book. "Take a journal. Try writing your feelings down. At least once a week."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but take it anyway just because I think I've already insulted this woman enough today. I'll never write in it but at least I made an effort. At least she'll think I tried.

I stuff the thing in my purse, then dig around to find my phone so I can call my mom on my way out of her door.

_I just don't want to relive everything I lived though in that treatment center and I feel like that shouldn't make me the bad guy. I already know all the things she's going to tell me to do. I've already done them. She's going to tell me to identify my triggers and I already know that's my baby. She's going to tell me to confront my triggers, which will lead to me writing my baby a note for her to receive on her eighteenth birthday but I already know I'll never have the courage to actually mail it. Then she's going to ask me about __her _— _about __Rachel _— _and I'm going to have to live through her telling me that the cross around my neck means absolutely nothing and all the things I've been believing my whole life about it being wrong and about me being condemned to hell are just silly. And she's going to encourage me to befriend Rachel and I can't do that. I just can't. So really… therapy is just a waste for me._

As I walk up the hallway and feel the tears prick the corners of my eyes… I feel a lot of things. But mostly, I just feel full. I feel like my body is just full of so much of everything. Hatred for myself, because I just suck as a person in general. Hatred for my mom because she's useless. And hatred for my dad because everything wrong in this world can be traced back to him. Hatred for Puck, because he has a hand in all this. Hatred for Rachel because she's the one that makes me hate myself for how much I…._like _her. Hatred for Shelby. Hatred for me, more. And then there's all that love stuffed in there, too. Love for my baby, love for Rachel, love for Shelby. But then the hatred comes again and sometimes it's stronger than love. I want the love to win. But it can't coexist with the hate and honestly it makes me feel tired and full. Stuffed. Maxed out on capacity. Like I can't hold anything else — anymore feelings inside of me anymore.

So before I pass the bathroom and head for the exit so I can go outside and wait on Mom…

I round the corner and go inside the bathroom instead. Because the only solution to this uncomfortable feeling of fullness inside of me is lies in two fingers to the back of my throat.

And call me crazy, but I swear this is true.

The moment everything I ate for the day comes out of my mouth and splashes into the toilet…

I don't feel so full anymore.


	6. Apple Juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning:
> 
> In depth explanation of an eating disorder lies ahead.

* * *

* * *

"When the dreamer wakes up and starts to reflect, that is when we can infer that the pearl is representing his daughter. When he speaks of mourning the great loss of his pearl, he is meaning the loss of his daughter. Now why do we think the author of this piece would choose something like a pearl to represent the dreamer's daughter? Anyone?" Mr. Stoneham's eyes dart all across the classroom and this is when I decide to give up on listening.

One of the things I hate the most is when teachers lecture like this first thing in the morning. I mean, I get it. He can't control what time his literature class is scheduled and yeah, he got the crappy end of the stick with having to teach seniors for second period. I know he still has to get his material in either way, I get it. But it is 9:00 in the morning, Figgins just passed a new rule this year saying that we can't have food or drinks in the classrooms which means I don't have coffee, and the last thing my brain wants to do right now is dive into some college-level analysis of a dumb Middle English poem written ten thousand years ago.

It's taking everything in me not to put my head down on top of my binder and fall asleep like the entire back row did. The thing about Stoneham is that he doesn't care if you fall asleep. I know some teachers say they don't care whether the students pay attention to them or not, but I mean it when I say that Stoneham _really doesn't care._ He won't wake you up or write you up or make you stay for detention. He'll just make sure your test is a hundred times harder than everyone else's since you slept through his entire class. But you know what? It's early enough in the year that I can completely bomb a test or two in here and still get an A.

After yawning so wide that my jaw should have come unhinged, my eyes go over to the window that I'm sitting next to, and I stare out of it. Partly to keep myself awake, but mostly because I'm bored. And as I look at the flag blowing in what seems to be a rhythm in the wind…

It doesn't take long for my thoughts to wander off...

_There was a time when I thought my mom hung th_e _moon in the sky. When I was little, she was Mommy and the only one who made everything bad in the world go away with a hug and kiss on the cheek. It didn't matter what the problem was, she'd fix it. Fell down at the soccer game? She'd kiss my elbow and it felt all better. Kids at school made my life hell by calling me fat? She'd pull me onto her lap and rock with me until I forgot all about why I was crying._

_Now that I'm sixteen and the issues are a little bit bigger than me falling down and getting a skinned knee, I'm starting to wonder if maybe mom's touch only worked for small problems. Maybe there are problems so big even moms can't fix. I haven't gone to her for help in a very long time. But tonight, I'm half a step past desperate and maybe she'll help me — dig down deep and find some of that Mommy Magic — and know what to say._

_Maybe she'll understand. I'm not expecting a miracle or perfection, but maybe she'll understand just enough to get me out of this headspace I'm in because I really need her right now and she's my only option._

_I'm not supposed to do any of this. I'm not supposed to cry, to falter and be weak. I'm not supposed to do anything but smile and give off the impression that everything here is perfect. Because we're the Fabrays and that's what we do. We don't have negativity in this house. Nobody ever has a bad day. We're all picture perfect and come straight off the cover of the Good Housekeeping magazines._

_But tonight, I caved in and I'm broken. I've been keeping it all together and holding it all in for too long and I think I finally exploded so maybe — just maybe — she'll have some understanding for that. Maybe she'll look inside the heart Dad turned cold so long ago and say hey, Quinn is right. She went nine whole months without even so much as wincing. And she's been going this long after the birth without breaking. Maybe she deserves a moment of vulnerability here._

_It's not going to be easy. I don't know how I'm going to waltz into her room and tell her that I just looked my baby's adopted mother up on Facebook and I feel like it took a piece of my guts away and I need my mommy to hug me and tell me everything's okay._

_I don't bother wiping my face off before I walk down the hallway, because that'd be pointless. I'm only going to cry some more and my face is still going to be blotchy red so trying to make myself look presentable before I stand in front of her and ask her to talk to me is just flat out pointless._

_I can count on one hand how many times I've been in my parents' room. And all four of those times have been after I had my baby. When Dad still lived here, it felt like their room was the forbidden zone and I dare not cross the threshold unless I wanted to face the consequences. Now that it's only Mom's room, it feels a little more bearable._

_I knock, softly at first. "Mom?"_

_I know she's still awake because I can hear the TV still on. She must not have heard me, so I knock again. A little harder this time._

"_Mom…?"_

_Still, nothing. But I swear I can hear the TV. Someone is talking in there and since it's almost 11:30 at night, I seriously doubt she's on the phone with anyone. Maybe she fell asleep with the TV on. It's not probable, since she can't sleep unless it's totally quiet and dark, but it's possible._

_I tuck my hair behind my ear and it against the door so I can listen and make sure it's the TV before I go in there unannounced because if there's a list of things that the Fabrays just don't do, that's another thing. Nobody goes inside of a closed door without knocking and being invited in first. It's just the rules._

_Maybe that's not the TV I heard…_

"_Francesca called and said her flight landed well," I hear my mom say. She's using her country club housewife voice instead of her normal voice so really, there's only a handful of people she could be talking to. "Italy, dear. This semester, she's studying in Italy."_

"_You have her bank information?" His voice almost stings my ears when I hear it. I wish she didn't have him on speaker. It's been a while since I've heard him speak, but I could never forget his voice. It's big, booming and even through the phone, intimidating. Yet somehow, I kind of missed it. Something about my Dad's voice just makes me feel compelled to listen. "I'm gonna send her a couple hundred, just so she has that safety net for spending out there."_

"_Yeah, I'll send it to you in the morning, dear." Mom replies and I'm a little confused by the word "dear" coming out of her mouth. They're divorced. I can understand him calling and asking about his kids and I understand her telling him about us because we __are_ _his kids too, but why is she calling him pet names? "I'm a little worried about Quinn."_

"_Why's that?" he asks, but it doesn't really sound like he's interested. It's almost like he asked out of obligation._

"_Well, she's been asleep every night by 10:15. You know she doesn't usually sleep that early, plus it's summer. She hasn't gone out with her friends or anything. I know it's only been a week since school's let out, but —"_

"_She's fine, Judy. Probably just finally got her head on straight, that's all."_

"_Have you spoken to her at all?"_

"_I don't have anything to say to that girl."_

_That girl. _ _Is that what I'm reduced to? I'm not a name to him anymore; I'm not a person? I'm a "that girl"?_

"_I'm just hoping she can finally get back on track," Mom says._

"_The only sensible thing that girl's ever done is giving that baby away. Now maybe she'll think straight and start repenting for bringing an abomination into this world," his words make me feel like my entire body's been dipped in ice water, then hung out to dry in the middle of the arctic. It hurts…_

_And I want to let it hurt. I want to sit down with my back against the wall and let it all just sink in and let him hurt me the way he used to when he lived here. But I know my mom's on my side. She's been on my side for the past few months. She even turned the room that used to be Frannie's into a nursery when she thought I was going to keep her, so I know she doesn't think she's a bastard or anything of the sort. She'll defend me. She won't let him talk about me or about my baby like that._

"_Oh, I think she will. I agree with you, dear. I think she's excited to start going to church and I think she knows she has to make it up to a lot of people, but mostly up to God. Having a baby out of wedlock just…"_

_No… she can't mean that. She can't mean any of that…_

_I back away from the door so I don't hear anymore because now the sting is really starting to set in._

_She can't mean any of that. She can't. She… when she told me I could move back home, she told me that she loved me and she loved my baby too. She can't possibly mean what she said. My baby isn't an abomination… she told me she loved us. How could she say that if she loves us? I really thought Mom was on my side now. After she made Dad leave… I just thought…_

_The only person I need in this world is my baby. Everyone can think she's a bastard and an abomination and everyone can think I'm the biggest slut to roam the earth, I don't care. All I need is her. I don't need anybody else to be on my side. I don't need Mom or Dad. I just need Beth. I just need to go to sleep so I can see Beth. I want to be with Beth forever._

_I know what I have to do now._

_I don't need Mom to know that I was awake and listening to their conversation, so I tiptoe back up the hallway and go into the bathroom._

_The only time I get to see Beth is in my dreams. In my dreams, I feel her body against my chest and feel her heartbeat against mine. Sometimes our heartbeats sync up and beat in tune with each other and those are the times I know that nobody will ever make me feel the way she does._

_I just need to sleep so I can be with my daughter…_

_So I open up the medicine cabinet and —_

"Miss Fabray?" Stoneham's voice is harsh enough to make me jump right out of my daydream. And I'm thankful for that, too. Jessica said that flashbacks are normal and to be expected but I really wish they'd hit me at a more appropriate time. Anyway, I make eye contact with Stoneham and somehow he knows that I need him to repeat the question. "Why do you think the author chose a pearl to symbolize the dreamer's daughter?"

"U-uh," I clear my throat and sit up straight to pretend that I was actually paying attention all along. "Because pearl's are beautiful. And rare. And precious. Maybe he thought all those things about his daughter." _I know I think all of those about mine. _"And pearls are hard to find. So now he lost it and won't ever get it back."

Stoneham smiles at me and that's when I can breathe again. "Beautiful analysis, Miss Fabray. Beautiful. Beautiful." He turns around and starts writing what I said on the chalkboard.

I take a breath and start to calm down as I mess with the pages of my literature book.

But just when I start to feel like my feet are back on the ground and I can 100% breathe again… something catches my eye. Or some_one_, catches my eye. They walk past the door of my literature class and stop at their locker. At first, the way my heart stops beating, I think my brain halfway expects it to be Rachel. She's the only person who's ever made my heart skip a beat. She's the only person who's ever made me feel like I'm not inside my body anymore.

I'm starting to realize that Rachel's the only one who's ever made me feel those things, but when I felt them from her, they were in a good way.

Because my heart has stopped beating now, but it's not in a good way. And I feel like I just left my body and I'm watching myself from the ceiling and that's not in a good way either.

The person in the hallway shuts their locker and starts walking the opposite way they came and I'm about to get a glimpse of their face but I look away at the second because I don't need to see his face to know who he is.

I'd recognize that mohawk anywhere.

* * *

It's been wet and rainy these last few days here in Lima, so I'm not really surprised that is wet and rainy today as well, but I really wish I could have had a talk with Mother Nature before I left my house this morning, because today is a day where I really needed it to be sunny. I needed the sun to be out and the birds to be chirping because I really needed to eat lunch with Sam and Mercedes on the steps today.

But because the universe hates me, here we are: stuck in the cafeteria sitting at one of those round tables next to the garbage cans and the entire senior class is enclosed in this one tiny space. I'm trying my hardest to listen to everything that Sam and Mercedes are saying, but they're mostly just talking to each other. I think they're back together, but I don't know for sure and I'm not willing to ask. I'm even trying to take a few bites of the slimy Salisbury steak and the hard rice.

If it were another day, I'd probably get up and buy a cookie from the snack booth, then a cupcake from the softball team's bake sale table. And I wouldn't bother with the Salisbury steak and rice. And I'd probably feel like the third wheel to Sam and Mercedes and combat that feeling by studying for the Biology quiz I have next period.

But today isn't just another day. Today is a day where I'm stuck at the table because if I get up, he might notice me enough to come and talk to me and I don't want that. I don't want to admit it, but I have spent the entire twenty minutes I've been in the cafeteria kind of watching him, which is why I wish we could eat outside today because at least then, there's more space for him to go and enough room for me to keep him out of my sight. But in this little cafeteria, I'm looking right at him.

He seems the same. I can't hear anything coming out of his mouth but just by watching his lips, I know that he's telling Finn all about his time in lock up and Finn is eating it all up. He's the big man on campus again, and all the little loser boys are afraid again. I don't want to watch him, but I can't help it. It's like when you lose a tooth and your tongue can't help but go to the empty space. My eyes are drawn to him and it's not easy to pull them away.

"Quinn," Mercedes calls me. I think it's the first time she's talked to me all lunch period. "You want my chips? I'm not gonna eat em."

"You can have my cookie too, if you want," Sam offers with a shrug and it takes me less than two seconds to figure that they're only asking me because I haven't even taken a bite of my food. "I didn't realize it was oatmeal raisin. Thought it was chocolate chip."

"No thanks, guys," I shake my head and of course, my eyes go back to Puck. I guess part of me feels like if my eyes are on him, at least I know where he is. At all times.

"Crazy that he's back," Sam says. When my eyes peel away again, I can see that he traced them so he knows who I'm looking at. "Thought for sure he'd get a while longer, huh?"

"I did," Mercedes chimes in. "So now I wonder who he smooth talked into letting him out so early. He was only there for like, three months."

"What'd he do?" I ask, eyes still on Puck. "Nobody will give me a straight answer."

"He stole an ATM. Right out of the 7/11 parking lot." Sam says.

"Oh," I whisper. Since my eyes are already on their table, I'm already looking when she — when _Rachel _— walks over to it. I have half a mind to look away so nobody thinks I'm staring at her, but I just can't do it. I like it when she tries her hair up. It's not often, but sometimes she'll wear it in a low ponytail and I think it's always nice when she does because then more of her face is showing.

_I thought Mercedes said she and Finn broke up… I thought they weren't together anymore…_

She takes the seat right next to Finn and the two of them say a few things to each other that I can't make out, then he pecks her on the cheek. Puck grins at them and at the same time he does, a lump forms in the back of my throat.

"Oh look," Mercedes's tone is semi-sarcastic. "The Royal couple really is back together."

"They are?" I ask. My voice cracks but I don't think Mercedes notices.

"Yeah, they told us in Glee Club yesterday that they're trying to '_work on their differences.'" _Sam explains.

I just nod my head, but I don't wanna be here anymore. I don't want to sit back and watch any of this. I just…

"On second thought, yeah," I say as I stand up and gather my books for the next three periods. "I'll take your chips and I'll take your cookie. I'm gonna go finish in the library, though. I totally forgot I have a Bio quiz next period and I gotta study." I grab Mercedes' bag of Doritos and Sam's oatmeal raisin cookie, then stick them on my tray so I can carry everything. "I'll see you guys later."

They both yell their "bye, Quinn!" after me, but I don't stop to say bye back because I really have to get out of here now if I'm going to make it out before anybody sees me cry. I take my books and my tray and round the corner into the bathroom, silently praying that nobody's in here.

And for the first time in a long time, my prayers are answered. The bathroom is completely empty and I thank god as I put my books down on the sinks and head into the handicap stall. I know these floors are absolutely gross, but being sanitary is the least of my concern at the moment, so I sit down on the floor anyway.

If somebody were to come in and go to the stall beside me, they'd be able to see clear up my skirt to my pink lace underwear because my legs are folded so my tray has a place to sit but again, I don't care. I just put the tray in the folds of my legs, grab my fork and go to town.

I feel so… empty. Puck's here and Rachel's kissing Finn again and Mercedes is kissing Sam again and I spent the summer in a damn psych ward and… what about me? Will anything ever be normal again? Will I ever stop feeling this much? Will I ever stop feeling so empty?

The way I swallow the Salisbury steak nearly whole makes me feel good for a second, but then the emptiness is still there so I finish the rice off behind it in like three spoonfuls. _A little less empty now, but still…_

I break Sam's cookie into two equal sized pieces and put them both in my mouth at the same time. My cheeks kind of hurt with the way they're full to capacity, but I chew and chew and chew until the bits are small enough to swallow. _Damn, that hit the spot._

I open the Doritos by squeezing them until one end busts open, then shovel them in my mouth before I've even swallowed all of the cookie. The bag was little, but the chips are gone in just a few seconds and my entire tray is completely empty, save for the little carton of apple juice. So I crack that baby open too, then guzzle it until a little bit of it is running down my cheeks and tickling my ears.

I swallow all of it so hard it hurts and only now do I realize that I'm crying. And I don't know myself all that well anymore, so I wonder what did it. Was it Puck being back, Rachel sitting with Finn or realizing that I'm so terribly lonely by sitting with Mercedes and Sam that finally made me cry? Maybe it's all three.

My stomach's so full that it hurts and I'm uncomfortable, but I have to let it sit for a while. So I do. I sit there with my back against the wall, my empty tray in the middle of my lap, my stomach poking out like I'm a couple weeks pregnant again and my hair sticking to my face from the tears.

I lift my phone to check the time and even though I'd usually let this all sit and marinate for a little while longer, the bell is about to ring to go to class and this bathroom is going to be flooded with girls who skip, so I have to hurry up and go now.

I yank the ponytail holder from my wrist and tie my hair back with it, then move my tray onto the floor. I crawl over to the toilet and again, I know it's not the most sanitary thing in the world, but who the hell cares? I shove my two fingers into my mouth anyway and it all comes out surprisingly easy. My shoulders hunch, stomach squeezes and in an instant, I feel whole again.

So… so much better.

**XXX**

In study hall, I usually have work to do but today I don't. I'm not sure if the teachers got together and collectively decided not to assign homework tonight, but I don't have any to do and I have nothing to study, so I guess I have no choice but to just sit here and wait until the bell rings so I can go the hell home.

I thought about trying to sleep because Mrs. Bunch is another teacher who could care less if we sleep. Except she's different than Stoneham because it's study hall and she can't make sure any test is hard. Anyway, I can't sleep in here because I'm not tired. I thought I was until I put my head down on my book bag and found that my stomach is empty but my mind is full. And when your stomach is empty but your mind is full, it's hard to sleep like that.

I don't want to just sit here and wait for the bell to ring, though. Because if I sit here then my mind will wander and these days, I don't know what my mind will wander to.

_Maybe I'll just read ahead for literature class. That can't hurt._

I unzip my backpack and sift through it to find my literature book. And as I'm filing through all the books I have stuffed in here, I pass that little red composition book that Bailey gave me.

_Maybe…_

I pull it out.

_I don't have anything else better to do. So why not? It's not like I'm going to do it all the time…_

I grab a pencil, open to the first page and...

_September 9th_

_I have nothing else better to do in this study hall so I decided to write in here. Is Bailey going to read any of this? I don't think so._

_I'm supposed to write down my feelings. I don't have feelings though. Not right now._

_I miss Cheerios. I miss Glee Club. I miss belonging to a group. Lately I haven't felt like joining anything but now I do. I don't like going home after school anymore. I wish I had something to make me spend more time away. The only time I get out is to go to therapy and I hate therapy._

_I'm starting to remember everything that happened that night I wanted to sleep. I remember at weird times. Like in literature class. I'm remembering bits and pieces and they don't make sense because I'm remembering out of order. Maybe I didn't fully forget. So far I have_

_I looked her up on Facebook_

_I tried to talk to mom_

_I took pills_

_That's pretty much all of it anyway._

_Puck is back. I don't care. He was in juvie but now he's not. I don't really care that he's back though. It doesn't affect me. I wonder if he thought about Beth while he was locked up though. It doesn't seem fair that he can think about her. I wish she wasn't half way his. I wish she was all the way mine. Rachel is back with Finn. I don't care though. Whatever. Everyone has somebody except me but it's because I don't deserve anybody. Nobody would make me happy anyway._

_This is dumb._

I close the notebook because I don't know what else to write. I don't think I did what Bailey wanted me to do, but it doesn't really matter because I only did it because I was bored.

It's kind of weird though, because I didn't really know I felt that way. About Beth being half Puck's, I mean. I didn't know I wished she was all the way mine until I wrote it.

Maybe that's how journaling is supposed to feel...


	7. Carry On

_September 10_

_I wonder if there's any scientific explanation for th_e _reason why everything is worse at night. Maybe I'm the only person it happens to, but it's like I'm fine during the day and managing well but when I lie down to go to sleep at night, everything sets in and I can't turn my brain off long enough to fall asleep. The worst part about all of it is that all I really want to do anymore is sleep, but I never can. When I'm asleep, nothing hurts and everything is calm. When I'm asleep, there's nothing for me to think too deeply about. It's like a free trial of everything inside of me being calm and I'd give anything in this world to keep that up._

_It feels weird to say, but I really miss Pennsylvania and I want to go back. It's funny because I spent the entire two months in that place desperate to get out and become tuned in to the real world again. But now that I'm tuned in to the real world, I wish I could tune back out and retreat back to the only place I felt safe. I think it's kind of counterproductive how they teach you everything you need to know to survive in that place, but nothing about what you're supposed to do when you're suddenly back in the same environment that broke you in the first place._

_I guess I just miss the stability and possibly the routine. I miss having something to count on in my life. It wasn't much, but at least I knew that every day at 5:30, no matter what, I had group to attend and when th_e _clock struck 7:00, it was my shower time._

_Out here, I don't even know which way is up. Sometimes I come home to Mom making some elaborate dinner and sometimes she's not here and left money on the counter for takeout. For just once, I wish that something was the exact same when I got home after school. For just once, I wish that I could count on knowing that every day was going to be takeout or every day was going to b_e _a home cooked meal. I just wish something in my life was stable and nothing ever is._

_The strangest part about all of this is that I was never someone who wanted things to be predictable. Once upon a time, I loved for things to be shaken up and different from day to day, but now I'm the exact opposite. At least I think I am. I don't really know who I am anymore._

_That's the scary part. I wake up every day not knowing which version of myself I'm going to get. I don't know if I'm going to be who I was before I had Beth or who I am now. I don't think it's possible the two of us coexist. Sometimes I feel like I took the old Quinn and stuffed her in a box and put her on the shelf and let this new Quinn take over. But the old Quinn is in there somewhere and she's dying to come out. I never know what I'm going to get with myself and I don't know who I am anymore and I'm scared that I'll never figure it all out._

_I don't even know where I belong anymore and really, that's all I want. At least back in Pennsylvania, I was around people who were a lot like me. I had something in common with some of them. But here in Lima, I'm starting to wonder if there's anybody quite like m_e. _At least it doesn't feel like it_. _I don't know how to explain it, but it's like when I walk around school every day, I feel like everybody knows something about me that I don't know about myself. It's uncomfortable and strange and I never felt this way before, not even in my old school._

_It's like someone came in and turned on all the lights inside my body and made it hard for me to hide. All the lights are on all the time and every time I feel like I found a way to shut them off, somebody moves the switch._

_It's the strangest feeling to be surrounded by people all day in school, but still feel so alone. At any given time, I'm surrounded by at least twenty people in school, but still I feel like I'm the only one roaming the hallways. In some ways, I wish I could run back to the comfort of Glee Club. When I think about all the things that went on between the four walls of that choir room, my heart feels like it swells up a bit and I'm overwhelmed with how much I miss it. It's the only place in this world, aside from Oakland Pines, where I felt like I belonged. But now it's strange because I don't even know that I'd belong in there anymore. It's supposed to be a group of all the people that are misunderstood in McKinley and really, it is. But I think maybe I'm a little too misunderstood for even the club to handle me._

When my hand gets a cramp in it, I decide to put the cap back on my pen, hit the switch on my desk lamp and try to go to bed again. I tried to fall asleep about an hour ago, but after lying there and doing nothing but tossing and turning and fighting to get comfortable, I gave up. I gave up, grabbed the red journal from my backpack and thought that maybe if I got all my thoughts down on paper they'd no longer be all bottled up and trapped inside of me.

I think my journaling worked. Because when I lie back down in bed, pull the blankets up to my chin and roll onto my comfortable side…

I'm finally able to give myself to sleep.

* * *

I don't know what's worse, smelling the food or actually seeing it in front of me. I know all the cafeteria ladies do is defrost the packages of pancakes and sausage then stuck them in the oven until they're hot, but the scent of pancakes and the maple syrup to go with them practically kiss the inside of my nostrils. When my stomach growls, I put my forearm across it as if that'll quiet it down and stop myself from looking at Mercedes and Sam's trays.

_They look just as good as they smell…_

"All I'm saying is that it's not supposed to, but I'm really hoping it rains today so our little impromptu performance outside is cancelled," Mercedes says as she stabs a piece of sausage with her fork. She and Sam have been discussing something about Glee Club for the past ten minutes and if my stomach wasn't growling so much, I'd actually be paying attention enough to know what it is they're talking about.

"It's not gonna do anything but get us slushied," Sam's voice is all muffled from his mouth being full. "I think he makes it his personal mission to make us look like bigger dweebs than we already do."

"That's why I'm saying, 'Please let it rain'," Mercedes replies.

I push on my stomach as another growl roars through it, willing it to stay silent. I'm so hungry I could eat eighty pancakes in a row right now, and that's just the thing. I'm so hungry and all I want to do is eat a million things right now but I'm sitting here in front of Sam and Mercedes. And if I start eating, I don't know that I'll be able to stop. The last thing I need is for the only two friends I have to see me looking like some 500-pound hog inhaling pancakes at the breakfast table. I'd rather starve.

"Do you even know what we're supposed to be singing?" Sam asks, mouth finally empty.

"I think a rendition of some Pink Floyd song or something. I don't know. I bet Rachel does," Mercedes starts looking around the cafeteria and suddenly I'm not hungry anymore, nope. Nope. I don't want to eat. All I want to do is get up and run away before she can — "RACHEL! Come here!"

Too late.

_Quick, grab a piece of gum out of your purse. Your breath probably smells. No, just fix your hair. Make sure you look decent. Wait, no. Make sure your shirt is showing just the right amount of skin. No, no, no, Quinn. Act disinterested. Act like you don't care. Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it…_

"Yeah?" Her voice falls on my ears and melts like fresh snow on an already wet sidewalk. I didn't realize how much I missed hearing her speak until she did and now all I can do is wait on edge until she says something else.

"What are we supposed to be singing today?" Mercedes asks and to my surprise (and pleasure), Rachel sits down next to Mercedes and across from me.

_Remember how Jessica said a positive step is saying something nice to her and not letting your negative feelings win? Don't act from a place of compulsion. Don't act from a place of repression…_

I have to physically swallow the urge to tell her that her headband looks like a blind preschooler picked it out and told her it would look nice with her already prepubescent toddler outfit. I have to swallow the comment that wants to come out of my mouth and tell her she looks like she shopped in the junior's section of Baby Guess. If only she knew how much thought and processing it takes for me to have an interaction with her…

I'm starting to wonder if this will ever stop and make sense with me. Because I really don't think all of those things. I happen to think that her headband looks really nice and I like the way it's navy blue and matches her cardigan. I think her outfit is simple, but really elegant. The navy blue cardigan over top of the bright yellow tank top and then the navy blue skirt… it's really nice. It's not my style, but it's Rachel's style and I think it's really cute. So why do I want to crap all over her outfit if I actually like it?

_Because it's easier to hate her, Quinn. That's why._

I guess that's true. The easiest thing is to hate Rachel. It's easier for me to hate her than it is for me to like her. Liking her means something…. totally different. And something that I'm really just not sure I'm ready to even think about yet.

But why should I keep taking the easy way out?

"I like your outfit today," I mumble, barely looking up from the open organic chemistry book in my lap. I want to know what her face looks like right now. If I had to guess, I'd say she probably looks surprised. But I can't make eye contact with her. That's too much.

"I—I got it from — I — I — thank you, Quinn," she stumbles over the words and somewhere inside of me, I have a smile. But I don't let it show. "I like yours too."

_But Finn kissed her cheek yesterday. She sat beside him, he kissed her cheek and according to Mercedes and Sam, they're back together._

See what happens whenever I allow myself to think?!

I slam my chemistry book shut, stand up and gather all my things so I can just go and get an early jump to class because _ANYTHING_ is better than sitting here.

"It's the first time you wore something that doesn't look like a first grader threw up all over you," I look her dead in the eye when I say that and I know it stung, I know it did because she looks totally humiliated but I don't care because she deserves to hurt.

_No she doesn't…_

Yes she does. She deserves to hurt because she hurt me yesterday and I don't care if she doesn't know it. I hope her feelings are hurt just the way mine were yesterday when I saw him kiss her.

I don't care.

**X X X**

_September 11_

_I don't think it's healthy to feel so much anger built up towards one person. I think it makes people mean and angry to be so hateful and frankly, it's exhausting. But it's the only logical thing I can do sometimes. Which makes me wonder if maybe I'm not a good person._

_I want to be nice. I want to be good. So then I tell myself that it's okay if I go up to her and apologize for what I said at breakfast and give her the excuse that I was just tired and hungry, which isn't a lie. But just when I want to apologize, I see something like him holding her hand and I get so angry that all I want to do is hate and be mean because the alternative is just so much work._

_I remember one time in a group session, Jessica told me that I'd have to learn to get over it because Rachel doesn't reciprocate the way I feel and I don't think I ever understood what she meant until today. It sounds scary, I think. Getting over it, I mean. Does that mean I have to find some way to live with all this rage I have inside of me because the way I feel about her will never be the way she feels about me?_

_That sounds miserable._

_Maybe the only person I should be angry with here is myself. I can't imagine going through my entire life feeling this way about her, knowing that she'll never feel this way back. And it's times like this where I feel like maybe it would be easier for everyone involved if I just weren't here anymore because the only thing that sounds worse than her never feeling the way I feel about her is the fact that in a year, I'll probably never see her again. That used to be my saving grace; knowing that once we graduate I'll never have to see her face again. But ever since I got out of treatment, it's the one thing that's scared me more than actually having to admit to myself and to her that I feel this way._

_It's all just exhausting and every time I think about it and try to make sense of it, I give myself a headache._

_I want to be happy about my junior year and excited, because that's what it seems like everybody is. Every day before class starts, I hear everybody talking about which colleges they're going to apply to and what they hope to get on their SATs. It's not like they ask me to join in their conversations, but I realize that if they ever did, I wouldn't know what to say. Because that's not me anymore. I don't even know what colleges I'm going to apply to and I have no clue what SAT scores I need to even get into those nonexistent colleges. I used to have such a clear cut image in my head and a dream to get out of Lima and make something of my life, but these days… I can't even see my life through the next week._

_It makes me wonder if maybe I should have just kept Beth. Jessica used to tell me that it didn't do anybody any good for me to think like this, but I can't help it sometimes because I feel like I gave up the only thing that gave my life purpose. Maybe I messed up God's plan for me after all. Maybe all along, I was meant to get pregnant and keep her and raise her and have that become my life. And maybe I screwed it all up when I gave her to Shelby and signed all those papers. Maybe that's why I can't truly be happy, because I messed up God's plan for me._

_The school day kind of feels like one big blur to me because it's like I'm not really living in the moment. It's like I don't realize things are happening until they're actually happening and by the time I process it, it's over. I think this is what Jessica called dissociating._

_Annual health checks were today, where we all got called out of class and down to the nurse's office so she could make sure we're all growing right. I used to hate health checks. But today, I was kind of excited for them and they were the only thing all day that took away the rage I felt from breakfast. When I stepped on that scale today and the nurse told me I'm 123, I felt a sense of relief wash over me because for the first time in a long time, I'm in control of something. I was 125 when I left the Pennsylvania. I may not be able to control where my life is going anymore, but at least I know that as long as I throw up every day; when I step on that scale, I'll be a couple pounds lighter. It made me wish that mom hadn't gotten rid of all the scales in the house a few years back._

_Another weird thing happened today when Puck came into home economics class. I thought that maybe I'd be mad that he was in my class but instead, I smiled when I saw him. That's another part of me that's exhausting because it's another part of me that wages a war every day. Part of me feels like I hate him and want absolutely nothing to do with him, but the other part of me thinks I might love him and that disgusts me. He tried to talk to me a little and I mostly just ignored him because even though I smiled when he came into my class today, I still feel weird whenever he talks to me._

_There was an assembly today for the junior class where Miss Pillsbury and Figgins talked to us about what junior year means in terms of college and SAT prep and I listened for the most part, but I couldn't help thinking that they weren't really talking to me. College seems like such a far fetch for me anymore._

_I'm starting to think that maybe I should look into homeschooling. I'm just not sure I'm fit to be around people anymore._

When the final bell of the day rings, I pack my books up into my backpack, sling it over my shoulder and stand up. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm so glad to be going home after the day I've had. It's getting to be a real pain coming here every day when there's so many people I try to avoid. I spent the entire day trying to avoid Rachel after my outburst at breakfast and every second after home ec trying to avoid Puck. I'm starting to think that maybe I should just try facing my problems head on instead of avoiding everyone, but then that means I'd have to face my feelings and I'm just not sure about that.

The crazy thing about today is that I spent the entire day looking forward to study hall just so I could write down everything I felt the entire day. I thought that maybe if I didn't get the feelings out while I was feeling them, I'd forget that I felt them and then journaling would just be pointless but that didn't happen. When I sat down in a desk and pulled out my pencil and turned to a fresh sheet of paper, it's like everything just poured out of me and made its way onto the paper. Maybe Bailey has a point about journaling after all.

Anyway, Mom texted me after lunch and told me that she'd be late picking me up from school today because she had to stop at the dry cleaners. I don't know what I'm supposed to do in McKinley for however long it takes her to get here, but it's times like this where I wish she'd let me start driving again. I don't think she trusts that I'm over the whole suicidal urges she thinks I have. She hasn't let me drive since I've been back.

Since I have a few minutes to spare, I guess I could go try to get rid of a few things. The bathrooms will be empty because everyone's either going home or going to their extracurriculars, so it's a nice time for me to be alone. Plus, I always like doing it better here than doing it at home because at home, my mom is on high alert. She barely lets me take a crap in peace since I came home, so I doubt she'd let me be alone in the bathroom for a while. I usually have to wait until she goes to sleep to do it, which is kind of an inconvenience sometimes.

Just like I suspected, the bathroom is empty. So I leave my backpack outside on the sinks and go into the handicap stall, already tying my hair up so it doesn't get in the way.

It's almost like an instinct now, with the way I put my fingers in my mouth. But this time, when my shoulders hunch, nothing comes out.

_Weird._

I hover over the toilet for a second with my hands on my knees, trying to think of something that'll make me gag. And it works, it does. When I think of Finn kissing Rachel with his big fat man tongue, I do gag. But then, I realize why nothing will come out.

Nothing's going to come out if there's nothing in there to come out. I haven't eaten anything all day… not even at lunch.

I'm a little disappointed, but not really because all that means is that when Mom goes to sleep tonight, I can binge. I can go downstairs, raid the fridge and eat until I blow up and it doesn't make me a greedy pig to do that either because I haven't eaten anything today. So I won't eat dinner either. I'll save all my room for tonight after she goes to sleep.

When I grab my backpack off the sinks and start back up the hallway so I can just wait outside for Mom, that's when it starts to hit me.

_I wish Beth were still here. She used to make me feel good about eating. She used to make me feel like eating was… was… important, kind of. It didn't matter how much I ate when I had her, because she needed it and that alone was justification. She didn't make me feel like I needed to get rid of anything I ate and she didn't make me feel like I needed to hang my head when I ate. These days, all I feel is shame whenever the food touches my lips… these days, I don't want anyone watching me while I stuff my face._

_I wish Beth was here._

With tears now streaming down my cheeks, I put my hands against the metal bar to open the door. But before I push it, I hear something…

"_**You swore and said we are not, we are not shining stars. This I know, we never said we are."**_

I take my hand away from the door and follow it. I follow those…. _beautiful_ noises. And the closer I get, the more beautiful they sound…

"_**Though I never been through hell like that I've closed enough windows to know you can never look back."**_

My feet have a mind of their own, but it's like muscle memory with the way they instinctively go to the choir room. I linger there for a few more minutes. _I hope they're not done… they sound really good…_

"_**If you're lost and alone or you're sinking like a stone, carry on…"**_

When they say that, I have to tilt my head back and look up at the ceiling. I know I haven't been the best believer in God lately, but I still have faith. And I think he sent me to this choir room while they're singing this song for a reason…

"_**May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground…"**_

"Carry on," I whisper to myself as a fresh round of tears come rolling on down. I reach into my back pocket and grab my phone just so I can shoot Mom a text telling her that she can just go straight home. She doesn't have to pick me up.

Not today.

Because I go inside the choir room.


	8. Broken Ones

I don't think they notice me right away. Or, at least, I hope they don't notice me because they don't really stop singing. They all just keep looking forward at Mr. Schue while their mouths move in unison, singing the same words that initially drew me in. It sounds strange, but it feels like every word they sing comes out of their mouths and stick to me like Velcro on shoelaces. Their words are enveloping me, encasing me like a warm blanket on a winter's day and I have to close my eyes to take it all in because damn, it feels good.

"_**If you're lost and alone or you're sinking like a stone, carry o-o-o-o-on."**_

When I open my eyes, my smile opens with them and I just rest my head against the doorframe. I don't know if I'm actually going to join or if I'm just going to awkwardly stand here at the door listening, but either way, I don't want to lose this moment. Even if I wanted to, I don't think I could move. My feet are cemented to the ground and my body won't allow them to move any direction. In a way, I think it's my body's way of protecting me; of telling me that I'm not done healing yet. Their music is like a Band-Aid, patching up every broken part of me.

"_**May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground and carry o-o-o-o-on."**_

I think Mercedes is the one who notices me first, because her voice is the first one I notice that drops out. And sure enough, when I look at her, her mouth is still. Quiet. We lock eyes from across the room and I don't even have to look at the bottom half of her face to know that she's smiling. Her smile reaches her eyes. They crinkle at the corners.

And it's like the domino effect with her because one by one, their voices all drop out and their eyes fall on me only, it doesn't make me uneasy. I was halfway expecting to want to feel like running away with everybody just all staring at me like this but really, it only makes me want to come in and take that empty seat in the back corner.

Mercedes stops singing first. Then Tina follows. After Tina, Rachel stops singing. And after Rachel, Finn. After Finn, there goes Puck and Artie and Santana and Brittany too and before I know it, the entire room is silent. Waiting on me.

Mr. Schue slowly turns with realization and only when his eyes meet mine do I feel like backing away. He's always been the only teacher I cared about disappointing. Really, any other teacher in this building could look at me with worried eyes and I'd look right back at them without faltering but somehow when it's Mr. Schue, he makes me want to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness.

He walks over to me at the door and every step he takes makes my heart feel like it's going to beat out of my chest. My eyes are low, downcast. I can't look him in the eye. I just can't.

"Is there something that you want, Quinn?" he asks, his voice that low and soothing tone. It's gentle, but still commands respect. Still demands an answer.

"I, uh," I quickly reach up to wipe a stupid tear that fell from my right eye. "I was wondering if it was too late to try out."

He shifts his weight onto his back leg and puts his hands on his hips. I feel like he's about to say no, even though in my heart of hearts I know he won't. There's a small part of me that thinks he might deny me and if he does, I can't say that I blame him. After all, they've been practicing a while now and nobody should get to join in the middle of everything.

"We'd be honored to have you," he says. "Go find a seat."

It's like Mr. Schue's words are the absolute law around here, because only when he gives me information do my feet finally come unglued. I shift my backpack onto my shoulder and go right to the back row, where I always sit. Everybody watches me climb the steps, but nobody says a word and in some way, I'm grateful for their silence. I think it'd only make it worse if they all welcomed me back one by one. Their silence and non reaction makes it less awkward, makes me feel like I never left. I silently thank them all for being so cool about this.

"Everybody," Mr. Schue says as he stands back in the front of the room again. _Please don't make them welcome me back. Please don't make a huge deal about this. _"Let's start again from the top," he says that with a wink at me and I can finally breathe for knowing he won't draw anymore attention to me than there already is. "And one, two. One, two, three, four…"

"_**Well I woke to the sound of silence, the cars were cutting like knives in a fist fight. And I found you with a bottle of wine, your head in the curtains and heart like the Fourth of July."**_

This time, I sing right along with them and I don't know you've ever sat in a room with a bunch of people who fully understand you, then opened your mouth and belted out a tune. If you have, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you haven't, let me be the first to tell you that it's the closest thing to magic you'll ever feel on this earth. The feeling of love. Of being united. Of doing something you love with people you love. I don't believe in much, but I believe in this feeling. And I don't know if I should trust it since these days, every time I feel like something is going right it suddenly goes left. But it's a feeling so genuine that I decide to hold onto it.

I think the name for this feeling is _hope._

* * *

As I walk up the front steps to get to my door, I'm still riding the feeling that Glee Club gave me. And in a sense, I want to smack myself silly for not joining from the jump. I mean, it's not like I didn't know it was going to feel this good, because I did. There's something about Glee Club that has the power to make everything feel like it all makes sense. Something about Glee Club is magical. But when I left Pennsylvania, I vowed to myself that I would change all the things that were wrong about my old life so I didn't slip into any of my old destructive habits. When I left Pennsylvania, I told myself to see Rachel as little as possible.

Soon as I fumble with the lock and get the front door open, Mercedes' mom beeps the horn and Mercedes hangs her hand out the window to wave at me. I wave back, then shut the door behind me.

For the first time in a while, I don't have an anxiety attack about coming home. I just kick my shoes off at the door, put my backpack down beside the coat closet and head to the kitchen to tell Mom I'm home. For a while after I first came home, it used to shock me dead to see my mom in the kitchen. But these days, I'm not too surprised. It actually feels kind of normal to see her standing at the stove stabbing a meatloaf to make sure it's done.

"Hey," I say, looking around. _Meatloaf and some kind of noodles. Where's the mashed potatoes?_

"Oh, hi Quinnie. How was school?" she sticks the meatloaf back in the oven and like she read my mind, pulls the bag of potatoes from the fridge. "I'm making meatloaf and potatoes. Your favorite."

"Yeah. School was… fine," I sit down at the island and just watch her rinse the potatoes off. "Need any help?"

"Yes, actually," the way she says that, I can tell she's surprised I even asked. I'm surprised, too. I must really be in a good mood… "You can peel potatoes for me, sweetie."

I slide off the barstool and replace her at the sink with the potato peeler. Frannie used to peel potatoes with a spoon. I used to laugh at her for it, but I think I get her point now. She swore it was easier and a little less dangerous. Dare I say it, but I actually kind of miss Frannie…

"How was therapy?" Mom asks next.

"Hmm?"

_Oh. Crap._

"Therapy. How was it?"

_Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. CRAP. I forgot all about therapy! When I told her she didn't have to worry about picking me up from school… crap. CRAP. Play it cool. Maybe she doesn't know I skipped. I think it's illegal for Bailey to tell her I skipped._

"It was fine too," I shrug. _That didn't sound too convincing…._

"Yeah? Who took you?" she presses, but I can't really tell if she's buying it or not….

"Mr. Schuester," the lie rolls off my tongue with ease.

"That's nice of him," she replies. _I'm in the clear… she buys it…._

"What do you boil these on?" I ask since I'm finally done peeling.

"Don't worry about it, honey. I'll do it. You go get cleaned up and comfortable. Just leave them on the counter there."

She says to just leave them on the counter, so leave them on the counter is what I do. I take them out of the bowl in the sink and put them in a new bowl on the counter. And as I'm leaving the kitchen to go up to my room and change out of this skirt, something catches my eye…

Hidden off beside the Keurig… one of our fancy glasses has a little bit of brown liquid left in it. Nobody drinks from our fancy glasses unless it's a special occasion… and nobody drinks Scotch Whiskey except…

_Well, wait. Maybe it's not scotch._

I glance over at Mom to make sure her back is still turned and once I'm sure that it is, I pick the fancy glass up and sniff it. Just from the stench and the color, I already know what it is. But just to be sure, I tip the glass up to my mouth and take a sip. _Scotch Whiskey. Just like I knew it._

I put the glass back in its hiding place, then stomp up the stairs.

_Who does she think she's fooling? Does she think I'm an idiot? Does she really think that I wouldn't notice? She promised… she __promised_ _me…_

I really want to slam the door, I really really want to. But I don't. Mostly because I don't want her to know that I'm in the bathroom. If she knows that I'm in this bathroom, she'll come up here and she'll want to talk to me and ask me what's going on and I don't want to talk to her. Not now, not EVER. How am I supposed to talk to someone who just deliberately stabbed me in the back? How am I supposed to talk to someone I don't trust? I CAN'T trust her…

She promised… _promised_…

_I know Jessica said to treat this session like any other session but I can't really do that when my mother's sitting right next to me. Something about this woman just makes me shut completely down when she's in my presence and for therapy, shutting down is something you really can't do. I don't think this session is going to be very productive…_

_But I promised Jessica that I'd try. Mom drove all the way from Lima just to see me this weekend and I did agree to let her sit in on this session, so I guess it's up to me to make the best of it._

"_Quinn?" Jessica starts. "Why don't you start by telling your mother what —"_

"_A lot of everything comes from Dad," I mumble. Why not just cut to the chase? Me and Jessica have been preparing for this meeting for a week now; ever since Mom told me she was going to come and visit. I already know what Jessica wants me to say. Let's just get it over with._

_Mom shifts toward me with what Jessica calls an "open body pose", but that doesn't make me take my arms down. They remain folded tightly across my chest. "What do you mean, Quinnie?"_

"_Exactly what I said," I clear my throat. "A lot of my… issues stem from the way Dad treated me."_

_Mom looks at Jessica and shakes her head slowly, which really makes me want to punch her. I have to hold onto my arms just to make sure I don't. "I'm not — I'm not sure what you mean by that, honey." She looks to me with a half-smile and I'm dying to ask her if she's freaking serious. I mean did she really think that she was going to home here and not get an ear full? Did she really think that Dad had absolutely nothing to do with any of this?_

_Jessica picks up on my silence, which I'm grateful for. She picks up on it and takes over for me when I just can't speak, "What Quinn's trying to say Judy, is that she… can pinpoint the source to a lot of the issues we've been working on to her father. And she wants you to know all of this, because a vital part of her recovery is trying to… avoid or possibly cut out all the things that are not helping her heal."_

_Mom stares at her, dumbfounded, then turns back to me. "You're saying Daddy made you… do what you did…?"_

"_No," I shake my head and look straight forward. "Not all the way. Partially." I feel them at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall and I swear to god if my body betrays me by letting these tears go, I'll never forgive myself. I refuse to give this woman the satisfaction of seeing me cry during this session._

"_H-How so? Quinnie, Daddy's always been —"_

"_He never thought I was good enough." There, I said it. Point blank._

"_That's not —"_

"_Like the time we went to Ocean City for a week back in sixth grade and I wore that bathing suit you ordered special for me." The way my voice comes out kind of scares me. It's like there's no emotion left in me and maybe there isn't… maybe it's all gone. "How he told me if I wanted to wear that bathing suit, I'd better skip dinner and bedtime snack."_

"_Oh Quinn, don't be ridiculous. You know he didn't mean it that way. You know he —"_

"_Then how did he mean it, mom? If he didn't mean it that way, then which way did he mean it?"_

"_Your father —"_

"_He forced you to put me on Weight Watchers."_

"_That's because he cares, Quinn! You were really very unhealthy and your weight was —"_

"_I was __eight."_

_Mom is quiet again and when I look at Jessica, her hands are writing a million miles per hour. Mom and I must be giving her good material. She hasn't even looked up from her notepad since we've started talking. I've been silent for a little too long now and I know I have more gripes to bring up with my mom, but I just don't know where to start. My brain is like a filing cabinet and I don't know which issue to tackle first._

"_...I got a nose job," I merely whisper. Jessica stops writing because this is news to her. I haven't told her about my nose job. I guess it's probably because sometimes I forget about it. "When I was thirteen, I got a nose job."_

"_Now wait a minute, young lady," Mom starts. "You're not about to pin that on your father. Quinn, you BEGGED him for months to pay for the surgery. YOU wanted it!"_

"_Because I never caught a break!" Finally, I take my arms from across my chest and look at her because she really must be stupid if she thinks my nose job was something I wanted for my own sole purposes. I mean really, Judy. REALLY. "Every single day at school, I heard it. Kids calling me 'Birdy Beak' or Toucan Lucy. It was bad enough I got it in school but then I'd come home and hear him point it out too. How he'd say things like 'your nose is nothing like your sister's.' And 'you swam in your mother's gene pool for a nose like that.' I just… wanted it to stop. I expected kids at school to be cruel but he was my dad… he was supposed to think I'm perfect the way I am and he…" I sigh. "I just wanted to hear the end of it."_

"_Well how were we supposed to know it bothered you? We used to tease Francesca the same way and she never —"_

"_Doesn't make it right, Mom. It hurt… it hurt when he said those things to me. Every time he commented on my weight or made a joke about my nose or called me a slut or…. kicked me out of the house."_

"_Quinn, look —"_

"_And you defend him. All the time. You're always on his side, it never fails. Even when he's clearly wrong and I'm clearly right. You just… turn the other cheek and pretend you don't see it. And it just… it feels like you love him. Way more than you love me…"_

"_Then I'm done," she says, looking down at the ground._

"_Huh?"_

"_Done with what, Judy?" Jessica pushes._

"_It won't be like that anymore, I promise. I promise. If… if Daddy is the cause of all this… pain for you, then I won't stand for it. I promise, sweetie."_

See, she promised. She absolutely promised me, but now I know that she lied. She lied to me. It was all just a big joke to her, she never took any of it seriously. There's a glass of Scotch on the counter downstairs and he's the only one who ever drank the Scotch. And it's no coincidence that she knew I wouldn't be home. I texted her. I told her not to pick me up. I went to Glee, I was gone for a while. She invited him over. He was here… and she promised he wouldn't be and she lied…

And now I don't know how to tell her I'm hurt. I don't know how to tell her that I know he was here and I know she went back on her word and it feels like she's picking him all over again because part of me knows that it's insane. Part of me knows that I can't ask her to make such a hard choice, between me and Daddy but what if I did? What if I did ask her to choose? It's starting to seem to me that she would choose him anyway, even though she knows how bad he hurt me.

I can't tell her and I can't be angry… So I guess the only thing there is left to do to make myself feel better is… that.

And it's no surprise to me how much better I feel once I'm flushing everything I ate today down the toilet, then wiping myself off so I can join Mom for dinner.


	9. Every Part of Me

_September 12_

_I still haven't told mom I know she's been seeing dad. There's a part of me that wants her to know I know but then another part is telling me to just let it go because I don't really know if it's my place or not. When I think about it too much, I start to think that maybe it's selfish for me to want her to cut all her ties off to dad. She was married to him for 20+ years and she probably does still love him. I try to think of it in terms of me and Puck and even that doesn't make it any clearer for me._

_Would I be able to cut off all ties with Puck? My gut instinct is to say that I would, but I'm not so sure. It would be hard, certainly. But if Beth asked me to do it, I think I would. Then again, I wouldn't be in the situation because if anyone treated Beth the way dad treated all of us, dad wouldn't be standing. I'd kill him with my bare hands and happily do life in prison for my daughter._

_We had another assembly in 5th period today, and this one was a two-part one. The first part was fine and I halfway listened to the lady lecture us on the dangers of drinking and driving, but when the second part rolled around and she started talking about contraceptives and how to prevent teenage pregnancy, I wanted to sink in my chair and melt. It felt like everyone was just staring at me and it was one of those moments where I'm sure I wasn't just paranoid. I'm sure everyone was staring at me._

_I'm starting to think that no matter what I do, that's going to be the legacy that follows me. I think around here, I could win a nobel peace prize and still all anybody would ever think when they thought of me is that I'm the girl who got pregnant when she was a sophomore._

_I know it sounds awful, but all I could think about while I felt a hundred pairs of eyes on me is how much I wanted to eat until I felt sick. I know that's not healthy and Bailey would have a lot to say about that, but I'm being honest here._

_I don't know when I'll see Bailey next but I think when I do, I'll tell her that I have started journaling. I do it twice a day: once in study hall and once before bed._

_I like doing it before bed. It helps me go to sleep with a clear mind._

* * *

_September 14_

_I know the old Quinn is still somewhere inside me because I felt her come out today at lunch. The seniors were going around passing out ballots for the homecoming court and I felt a little spark of the old me ignite. For a split second, I thought about how much I want to be homecoming queen next year. It wasn't big enough to make anything burst into flame, but it was enough to make me remember who I used to be. And I think if I could just get back to that, my life would be so much simpler._

_I think the thing that surprised me the most about thinking of homecoming next year is the fact that I've actually thought about next year. Since I got home from Pennsylvania (and a little before that) I haven't really been able to see my life past the next week. It's like I'm just winging everything and when I make it to another day, I'm surprised. So the fact that I thought about next year sometime really surprised me._

_I don't know why, but one of the first things I thought about when I thought about next year was how much I wanted to tell Bailey. I don't know. I guess somehow I felt like she'd have a sense of pride in me if she knew._

_I've decided to give mom the benefit of the doubt. I haven't heard her mention dad and I haven't seen anything else suspicious since the glass of scotch so I've decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and say that she's the one who drank the scotch that day._

_I guess all in all, I can't complain about the kind of day today was. The only bad thing about today was that I didn't get to see Rachel because Mr. Schue cancelled glee club because of some last minute thing he had to do with Miss Pillsbury._

_I didn't know how much I missed her until I didn't get to see her today._

* * *

_September 18_

_When Bailey first gave me this thing and told me to try journaling, I can't remember if she told me to only write in it whenever I can or to write in it every day. I'm not sure of her instructions and I haven't seen her in a while to ask. I think eventually I'm going to be in trouble for skipping so many sessions with her but I've already missed two and nobody's said anything to me or mom so I'm assuming it's fine. Mom would kill me if she knew, though. I wonder at what point Bailey starts contacting her…_

_But I have a good reason for missing, though. I've been in glee club every Tuesday after school, and every Thursday too. The only days she could see me are Tuesdays and Thursdays and I just so happen to be busy those days now too._

_Glee Club today was awful and I found myself questioning why the hell I joined again in the first place._

_I've gotten myself to a point where I can tolerate seeing Rachel and Finn together. I swear I can. But when I sit in the back row directly behind them and have to see them holding hands and canoodling the whole time, it really starts to grate on my nerves. We get it. You two love each other and couldn't be happier that you're back together. We all get it. It doesn't mean they have to flaunt it in front of our faces. Today, Finn pulled her close and whispered something in her ear and it was enough to make me physically nauseous._

_I remember at some point in therapy back in Pennsylvania, Jessica told me I should always try to be in touch with my emotions, so I laid in bed for an hour when I got home from school earlier. My intentions were to take a nap, but then I started thinking and started trying to get in touch with my feelings and what I've found is that maybe I don't really like Rachel the way I thought I did. Maybe I just miss everything she represents for me. Innocence. Beauty. Maybe I just miss the relationship I used to have with Finn._

_I wonder what Jessica would think if I told her that I've begun to think Rachel's name and allow her into my thoughts. Every single session I ever had with Jessica, we discussed Rachel in some way or another so I think that's why I'm making progress. In some ways, Jessica prepared me for exactly the things I'm facing with Rachel. But I'm starting to get a little bit scared._

_What happens when all of her training runs out?_

* * *

_September 19_

_When I woke up this morning, all I could think about was how much I hated Glee Club yesterday and how much worse today was probably going to be because Mr. Schue assigned love song mashups so he can get an idea of what to sing to Miss Pillsbury for their six month anniversary._

_I know this is the coward's way out, but I swear I had every intention on going to school today. I got up when my alarm went off, stuffed my legs into a pair of leggings and my body into a sweater dress. It wasn't until I was plugging my curling iron in to do my hair I realized just how much I didn't want to go. So I went downstairs and told mom that I just wasn't feeling up to school and the good thing about me spending a summer in a psych ward is that she doesn't ask questions anymore. When I tell her I can't do something, she doesn't question me or try to talk me into anything. She understands and tells me that it's okay and to call her at work if I need anything._

_I could tell she was a little nervous about leaving me home alone, but she did. She only freaked out once around 10:30 when she called me and I didn't answer. But when I called her back at noon and told her that I was just sleeping, she calmed down._

_I don't know if staying home today was the best decision I could have made, but I do think it was a little bit worth it. It was the first time in a long time where I felt like I could breathe. Usually, I feel like I need to keep myself busy to keep myself distracted, but I wasn't busy at all today. After I took off all my clothes, I put my pajamas back on and went back to bed until noon. And after that, I laid on the couch in my underwear and watched all the shows I usually miss while I'm at school, like Divorce Court, Maury and Dr. Phil. I didn't overeat today, either. I just had pancakes for a late breakfast and a whole container of strawberries, which isn't much. That was what I was most worried about, being home all day. I was just worried that maybe I'd eat everything in the pantry and it'd be five steps backwards for me._

_I guess in hindsight, I probably could have gone to school after all instead of avoiding it just because I didn't want to go to Glee Club. I could have just skipped Glee. But seeing Rachel holding Finn's hand during school hours doesn't sound appealing to me either._

_I know eventually I'm going to have to figure this out and figure out how to combat the things I feel for Rachel, because I can't keep avoiding school just because her and Finn are together but I don't know any other option yet, so this is what I'm stuck with._

_I think the old me is starting to come back because while I sat and watched Dr. Phil today, the one thing I could think of to solve my problem is to somehow break Rachel and Finn up. I even came up with a whole plan on how to text Finn from a texting app and tell him anonymously that Rachel cheated on him. I even came up with a backstory for the guy she cheated on him with and it was so believable I almost believed it myself. And for a second, I really thought I was going to go through with it. I really, really did. Because that's what the old Quinn would do._

_But this new Quinn felt ashamed, and that feeling isn't lost on me. The shame, I mean. That's not an unfamiliar feeling for me. How could I really plot to hurt Rachel? Because in the end, that's really all that would happen. Rachel would be heartbroken and probably drive herself crazy trying to convince Finn that she really didn't cheat. And it would be all my fault and I don't know if I could live with that on my conscience._

_I'm starting to get really confused because I think this is growth. Doing the harder thing and dealing with seeing Rachel and Finn love each other and just sucking that up is the harder thing. So maybe that's growth and a real testament to the new and improved me. But then again, I used to like myself. I liked myself the way I was before any of this and I'm starting to feel like I'm losing myself so maybe that's not growth. Maybe that's just me getting lost in everything I want to pretend that I want to pretend I am._

_Maybe I'll never be the Quinn I was before._

_Maybe I don't even know who she is anymore._

* * *

_September 21_

_I never thought I'd say this, but it really feels good to be back in school. I thought that taking a couple days off would be good for my morale, but really it just made me feel worse. Today isn't great, but it sure is better than yesterday._

_When I came back to the breakfast table this morning after being gone for two days, I was kind of expecting Mercedes or Sam to say that they missed me or comment or something but they didn't. I don't know if I was more disappointed in the fact that they didn't seem to miss me or if I was happy they didn't make a big deal about it. I guess in some ways, I was both. Happy that they didn't make a big deal about me being gone for two days. And also sort of sad because it just reminded me of how little anyone would care if I just disappeared._

_Nobody really said anything in Glee Club either. And again, I guess I was happy because nobody drew unnecessary attention to me but again upset because didn't anyone at least wonder where I was? Mr. Schue kept looking at me like he wanted to say something and I think he would have if I hadn't left so quickly when it was over. I think he know all about my summer stint but just hadn't quite figured out how to approach it with me. I wish he would, though. Because maybe then I wouldn't feel like it's a hundred pound weight just dragging around with me. Maybe if I could tell somebody, this load would be lighter._

_I still haven't been to see Bailey and this is maybe five sessions now that I've missed. Maybe four, I don't know. I'm not counting. But maybe I should go._

_I had no intention of staying home yesterday. I mean it. I really really had plans to go. The other day, when I skipped just to make sure I wouldn't have to see Rachel and Finn, I felt so much better that I was actually kind of excited to go the next day. But when mom came home that night and brought Chinese takeout, all I could smell was dad's old cologne all over her and giving her the benefit of the doubt was over. She fell asleep early, around 8:00, so I went downstairs and ate every single drop of leftovers until I felt sick. But when I tried to throw up, nothing would come out._

_And I swear I'm not back to the way I used to be, like in middle school when I used to eat everything and get rid of it maybe five times a day. I swear I'm not that bad again. But I just felt so heavy and sluggish from all that food and I __had_ _to get rid of it somehow, so I just drank a whole gallon of water with some miralax mixed into it and it worked like a charm. I mean within half an hour, I was running to the bathroom and so grateful that mom and I had separate ones._

_Anyway, I tried to get up for school yesterday but I spent the entire night in the bathroom and long story short, I will never take another laxative ever again in my life._

_When I got home from school today, mom wasn't here again and I'm almost certain that she went out to meet dad, but I can't prove it. I was all alone and the thought crossed my mind again for the first time since I left Pennsylvania. I thought about just how little her life would be affected if I really wasn't in it. And I know how easy it would be. She's never home anymore so if I really wanted to do it — I mean __really_ _wanted to do it — I would just do it when she's not home so she can't make like last time and find me just in the knick of time._

_I want to go back to Pennsylvania. I want to go back inside that bubble I was in while I was there. At first, I hated it and wanted out so badly but now, looking back, I can appreciate it. Out here, it's so scary to face everything. It's scary to keep track of how many triggers I face in a day and how to deal with them. Out here, everything happens and nothing slows down._

_And I never thought for a second that when I got home, this would happen. I wish I could just call Jessica and ask her what I should do. She prepared me for everything there is to prepare me for out there, but she didn't think to mention how to deal with eating so much I make myself sick. And she never taught me how to stop._

_I think the scariest part about it is knowing that I want to stop but not being able to._

_Because what can you do when you __have_ _to eat food?_

* * *

_September 28_

_It's been a while since I've been able to sit down and journal, but I have a free minute now._

_Everybody always says your junior year is your most hectic year yet, but I never believed it until now. Just in the last week, I've had six tests, five papers and three quizzes. In a way, I liked being so busy I couldn't think but now that everything's slowed down and I'm not so busy anymore, everything is rushing back and there are things that have just piled up from the week I spent too busy to think about them._

_Today in Glee Club, Rachel and Finn sang something together and maybe I'm just crazy, but I think I felt some kind of disconnect. Because usually, putting Finn and Rachel's voices together is like putting peanut butter with jelly. They're two entirely different things separately but when they're put together, they make magic. But today, I didn't feel that magic. They didn't even look each other in the eye most of the time. Maybe I'm overly observant, but that's just something I noticed._

_I've also noticed how Sam doesn't sit with me and Mercedes at lunch anymore. I asked Mercedes if everything was okay and she said it is and that they're just going through a rough patch. I didn't ask her to elaborate because I guess it's really just not my place._

_We're going to start prepping for sectionals next week, so I hope Rachel and Finn sort whatever it is that they're going through out. While part of me desperately hopes that there's something going on between them, a different part of me does hope they work their differences out because I really do want to win._

_I've been too busy lately to check Shelby's Facebook for any updates on Beth, but I caved in last night and looked. There wasn't anything I haven't already seen, which kind of disappointed me, so I just went through old pictures. And then when I looked at Shelby's friend list, I got angry because why the hell is Puck her Facebook friend? That doesn't seem fair that he is and I'm not. I got so mad about it that I sent Shelby a friend request on my own. I mean really, it's just not fair. She's my baby too. She's MINE, and he gets to see everything that Shelby posts about her. Whereas I'm stuck just looking at whatever she decides to make public, which isn't a lot._

_After thinking about it for a second longer, I cancelled the friend request I sent to Shelby. I just don't know that I'm ready for all of that yet. I think it might hurt too bad to just be nonchalantly scrolling through Facebook one day and then randomly being faced with my baby that I can't have. I was feeling bold and angry, but when I calmed down I knew it was a bad idea. Which again… growth?_

_Maybe not though. Because I still wanted to see her, you know? I still wanted to be like Puck and see every single thing Shelby posts about my baby, so I just went off and made a fake profile. It's under some stupid name and I said I was a show choir coach from some school out in Columbus and it worked like a charm because Shelby accepted me within like twenty minutes._

_I don't want to talk about her for too long because then I might get sad when I've had a really decent day today, but let me just say that she's gorgeous. She sits up in one of those little boppy pillows on her own now and likes to listen to people sing to her. I read through the comments and Shelby said that she really likes it when Puck sings to her and that made me so mad I couldn't even see straight. I just don't get why he gets to see her and I don't. Granted I don't think me seeing her is the best thing for me right now because really, I'm scared that I might just…. never give her back. But it's not fair that I don't have that option and he does._

_I've noticed that lately, all I feel is anger towards Puck. Jessica said that anger would be normal when I start to feel it. So I guess it's normal that I'm angry towards him but I think the way I feel towards him is a little beyond anger sometimes. It's full out rage._

_And I'm beginning to think I'll never feel any differently towards him._

* * *

_October 5_

_October means homecoming month. The homecoming game is next weekend and I couldn't be any less excited. I don't even think I'm going to go._

_I've noticed that I only get really low like this after I look at pictures and updates of Beth, so I've decided that I should probably try to stop but I really can't help it. It's like the sweetest form of self torture. It feels so good every time I go on my burner account and scroll through Shelby's profile but then I feel so down after I log out. Like maybe I should be back in Pennsylvania low. Like maybe my life is worthless kind of low._

_...anyway, Sam and Mercedes broke up again. I wasn't surprised. I seen that coming. He stopped sitting with us at lunch and started sitting with the football team again which, in McKinley, is a tell-tale sign of a rocky relationship. Since they broke up, the Glee Club's been so weirdly divided and it's kind of awkward any time Mr. Schue gives us an assignment. I think he noticed the division too. Because he gave us the assignment to spend more time together so we can bond because the only chance we have at winning sectionals is if we bond as a team._

_So Mercedes is having a sleepover tomorrow night. It's going to be her, Tina, Santana and Brittany. Rachel isn't coming because she and Finn already have plans, so I wasn't going to go either. But then mom came home last night from a Browns game and she was wearing one of dad's old coats. So I told Mercedes that I'll be there._

_Even though Rachel won't be there, I'm kind of excited._


	10. Thinking Out Loud

I didn't forget the whole "show up fashionably late rule" or anything. I mean yeah, it's been a really long time since I've been to a party of any kind and I'm a bit rusty on what to expect, but I didn't forget the fashionably late rule that every girl in the history of girldom knows to follow. I was supposed to be here an hour after it started, maybe thirty minutes at the very earliest. But when I came home from school today, Mom wasn't home and she left me a note on the kitchen counter that said she wouldn't be back until late and to heat up the leftover spaghetti in the fridge if I get hungry, or order takeout with her credit card.

I've decided to work on giving her the benefit of the doubt again, so I made up the excuse in my head that she's just out with a few of her book club friends doing something fancy like wine tasting or chatting at a country club, but the more realistic part of my head has no doubt that she's out with Dad. I just have a feeling that she is and usually when I get these kinds of feelings, I'm never wrong. So anyway, when I got home she was gone and I sat around for a little just trying to decide what pajamas I should wear tonight, then I took a nap because I know we probably won't do much sleeping tonight. Or I tried to, at least. I couldn't really fall asleep. So I just laid there until I got irritated with myself and took a shower.

Mercedes told us all today at lunch that we could come at seven, so I tried to time my shower just right and get out at 6:30, but there's only but so much shaving and washing a girl could do. When I got out, it was only 6:05, so I sat on my bed again and went back through my pajamas. Then decided that maybe I could kill time by going to the store and picking up cupcakes or something because it kind of feels weird to show up to Mercedes' house without something to pitch in.

To make a long story short, I ran out of little bull crap things to do to occupy my time after school today, so that's how I ended up here at 7:00 sharp instead of being an hour or so late. But thankfully, it's not awkward or anything. To be honest, it kind of feels like I'm somewhere I belong. I know this isn't my home anymore, but it was for a good five months after Dad kicked me out and it was like as soon as I walked through the doors, I felt like I was at home. I felt like I was a place safe from the world. Like no matter what goes on outside that door, nothing will ever seep in and get to me. And really, it just felt good.

Mercedes' mom even gave me a hug when she came upstairs and she held me so tight that I felt like I could just melt into her and be okay. Even now as me and Mercedes stand at the kitchen table cutting strawberries and kiwi, I'm thinking about that hug and how I just buried my face in her neck and took in the scent of her perfume. For the first time I think ever, I actually believed someone when they said they were glad to see me. Like Mercedes, Mrs. Jones is a heavier-set woman and I can't help but think that her body suits her. She needs to be a bigger so her giant heart has somewhere to fit.

"You think this is gonna be enough?" Mercedes asks, stepping back and looking at our spread. "I kinda just ran out last minute when I got home from school. I didn't really know what to grab."

I stop cutting and take a look at the food too, just to give an honest answer. We've got three kinds of Doritos, tortilla chips and salsa, a fruit salad, three containers of Oreos, cupcakes, Twinkies, two tubs of ice cream in the freezer, a bunch of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, plus two large pizzas that her mom is going to go pick up at 8:00. I'd say we have more than enough.

"Mercedes, you're gonna have food coming out your ass from now until next week sometime," I reply and she laughs but I'm being very serious.

"I was worried I went a little overboard. I just didn't know how much to get. I've never… you know… had a thing before."

"It's gonna be fine. You have more than enough to hold us over. If we finish all this food and run out, we have a serious problem," I assure her and take a seat at the kitchen table.

I crack open a can of Sprite and take a sip as silence falls between us and I think I've mentioned it before, but it bears repeating. I love the way me and Mercedes can sit and silence and neither one of us feels the need to break that silence for any reason. It just feels good to be able to do that with someone. It's a very rare thing and something I've only ever experienced with Mercedes.

"I'm glad you came over early to help me," she opens a can of Pepsi and sits down right across from me. "I feel like we haven't really had the chance to talk lately, it's just been so crazy."

"Yeah, I know," I mumble.

"Well how've you, like… been?" she asks and I pretend to be really fascinated with the L shaped scratch in the middle of the kitchen table. I pick at it with my fingernail like it's very important work. "I know we talk sometimes at lunch, but never like… good. Not like we used to."

"Yeah," I sigh and keep picking at the scratch.

"Everything feels kinda different, huh?"

"How do you mean?"

She doesn't answer right away, but I know Mercedes well enough to know that she's just trying to figure out a way to word whatever it is she's about to say to me, which makes me nervous. It's never a good thing when someone has to figure out how to say what they want to say, is it? That usually means they're about to say something that could possibly be offensive, doesn't it?

"It's okay if you're not okay, you know?" She finally speaks, and picks a Twinkie up off the table. I think her energy is just as nervous as mine because she doesn't open it or anything. She just kinda plays with it, sliding it back and forth from hand to hand and listening to the wrapper crinkle. "With everything that happened last year, I mean. It's okay if you're not okay and you know, if you ever want to… talk or anything about it, we can."

"Thanks," I whisper, still not making eye contact with her. I'm just scared that if I move my eyes at all, the tears are going to come streaming down my cheeks. It feels like I'm holding back two rivers and I'm really just not sure how much longer I can hold up.

_I'm so tired of pretending that I'm fine…_

"Well are you?" she asks, this time her tone a little elevated.

"Am I what?"

"Okay…?"

_No. I'm not okay. I'm the farthest thing from okay. I'm… a wreck, really. My head is just so mixed up anymore. I don't know which way is up and which way is down. I hate going to school because I don't feel like I belong there anymore but that's the only place I have left to go because being at school is even worse than being at home sometimes. I feel like my life is on the fast track to derailing and I'm going to end up just so terribly lost in the carnage. I struggle every single day with just getting out of the bed. I hate going to school and seeing Puck because his presence makes me feel like I can't even breathe. Every time I'm at school and have to see Rachel, I feel like I'm caught in an endless battle between my head and my heart and it's just starting to really wear me down and on top of everything, I really, really, really miss my daughter. So much that I really don't know if I can live with it anymore. Nothing is okay. Everything is horrible and I don't know how to fix it._

"I uh…" I start, but my voice trails off as I bite my lip because I'm not sure just how much I want to tell her yet. I mean, I know it's Mercedes and all and if there's anyone in this world I trust with this information, it's her. But still. Everyone who knows just looks at me weird all the time and I don't know if I'm ready for her to look at me weird yet. "I didn't... spend the summer with my dad."

"You didn't?" She doesn't sound all that surprised which makes me wonder if maybe somehow she already knew. Maybe not about the whole treatment center thing, but I wonder if maybe she knew that I lied. Mercedes is good with that. Picking apart my lies, I mean.

"No," I shake my head. "I actually um… spent it in Pennsylvania…" I drag my cheek across my shoulder to wipe a tear away quickly before she notices it. "At a treatment center."

I wish I could see her face so badly right now, but I refuse to look up and make eye contact. I feel like I just told her my darkest secret and she has the ability to break me right now by either accepting or rejecting me. It's Mercedes so I'm really not expecting anything less than respect and support, but there's still that lingering possibility in the back of my mind that maybe she'll call me crazy and tell me to get out.

"Quinn, I—," she starts, but then stops and my breath catches in my throat and threatens to make a round of tears fall. "I… I had no idea, I…" she sighs, doesn't know what to say. "I… I'm sorry." I just nod at her. "...why?"

I shrug and not because I feel like if I start talking I'll start crying and don't know when I'll stop, but mostly because I really actually don't know. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to answer. I guess maybe it wasn't just one thing that landed me there. Maybe it was a bunch of things. Like the snowball effect with one thing just on top of another thing. How do I explain that?

"Is it…" she starts again and I finally grab a napkin to wipe away the tears that are just ravaging my face at this point. "Do you miss… Beth?"

"S-So much," I admit and the sound of my voice cracking makes me embarrassed and makes Mercedes get up and wrap her arms around me. I really wish she wouldn't touch me right now but I'm too busy trying to fight off sobs to even push her away. She's hugging me but my arms are tucked into my stomach and my body's too stiff to even move. It's like my crying takes every ounce of energy I have. "The only time I see her is in my dreams and I just… I wanted to see her _so bad_ that I…." I can't even say what I did…

"Oh, Quinn…" she wipes my tears with her hands and rubs my hair and only god knows how uncomfortable I am with her _comforting_ me right now. I just… don't want to be touched.

"I just wanted to sleep…" I whisper through my tears and she just nods and see, that's the best thing about Mercedes. The best thing about Mercedes is that she just knows. I don't have to say it. I don't have to sit here and tell her every intricate detail about what I did and how every pill I swallowed felt like it went straight to the pit of my stomach and just sat there. How every time each one slithered down my throat, my head felt lighter and lighter. She doesn't need to know that. Because she's Mercedes and she gets it and it's just not necessary with her. That's the best thing about her.

She just lets me sit here at the kitchen table with my head on her shoulder and her arms around me until I can't even squeeze out anymore tears. And as much as I hate crying, I have to admit that I do feel better. Like a ten pound load has just been lifted right off my shoulders but maybe I can just chalk that up to actually telling someone about my summer. Maybe that's not due to the crying.

"Have you told —"

"No," I wriggle out of her hug just to look her in her eyes even though mine feel puffy and swollen shut. "No, I haven't told ANYONE. And you can't either, okay? You can't tell ANYONE about this, Mercedes. I swear if anyone finds out… you can't tell. You CAN'T. You have to promise me that you won't —"

"Your secret's safe with me, Quinn. I won't tell anybody. It's not my place to. But you should… y'know? You should tell everyone about it in Glee Club, at least. It might make us understand you a little better. And we won't judge. We never do. And it might make you feel better. That's a safe place. We've all seen each other go through hell and back."

I just shrug again and dab my eyes with more napkins. _At least the tears have stopped falling…_

Mercedes hands me a wet rag and I take it, thanking her with my eyes. Another thing I love about Mercedes is that there are times when we don't need to talk to tell each other what we're thinking. I know I don't have to say "thank you" for the rag. I know she knows that with my eyes, I mean it.

_Maybe she's right. Maybe I should talk to the club eventually. Maybe I'll be ready someday. I doubt it, but maybe…_

"So what was it like?" she asks, sitting back down across from me. "Did they like, tie you to a bed or something?" _I knew this was coming… I knew she'd want to know some details about Oakland Pines… _"Was it weird and scary like in the movies?"

"No, actually, it was —"

But I don't get to finish telling her anything about what it was like there. Because for the second time in a long time, God answers my silent prayers once again. I didn't really want to tell Mercedes anything about Oakland Pines because really, I'm not ready to relive it just yet.

So I've never been more grateful to a doorbell ringing.

* * *

I'm all about honesty tonight and being upfront about my feelings, so let me be honest with myself when I say that I really wish Rachel was here.

It's not that I'm not enjoying myself, because I am. Sitting here on Mercedes' bed with my back against the headboard and a pillow across my lap while Mercedes sits next to me and Tina lies by our feet is fun. Watching Brittany try to make sense of the movie while she lies across Santana's lap on the floor is fun. Being in a room full of girls while Mercedes' Redbox money is being wasted because none of us are actually paying attention to the movie is fun. I just can't help but think that I'd be having more fun if Rachel were here.

I told myself that I'd try not to think about the fact that she's not here because she has plans with Finn, but that's really not working out for me. Every time I think about how much fun she'd be having with us, I think about why she's not here and when I think about why she's not here, I burn up with so much rage that I almost tell myself that I need to go home but then I talk myself out of it somehow and find it in me to enjoy myself long enough to stay, until the next hour when it happens all over again.

Like I said, it's not that I'm not enjoying myself with the other girls because I am. It sure beats the hell out of being home alone on a Friday night. But it's the strangest feeling in the world to be in a room full of people and still feel utterly alone. Nobody's really watching the movie because they're all talking amongst themselves, mostly about boy problems and I'm smiling and laughing and engaging whenever they say something funny. But I don't feel like I'm totally belonging here. I don't have boy problems like they do. I can't sit here and eat pizza slice after pizza slice after pizza slice like they are. I don't have any exciting over-the-summer stories to catch up on like they do. I'm sitting here on the bed with all of them and I'm in my pajamas too. But I feel like if I disappeared or just turned invisible, they wouldn't really notice.

"So yeah," Tina talks with a mouth full of chips and salsa. "Mike and I really don't know what we're going to do. I mean we'll probably try the whole long distance relationship thing while he's in college, but those never really last."

"It'll last if you want it to last," Brittany replies and I hate it when she talks because when she talks, I look at her and when I look at her, all I see are the ways that she and Santana are close and it goes back to me wishing Rachel was here. I know that if she were here, I probably wouldn't be running my fingers through her hair the way Santana is running her's through Brittany's, but still. If Rachel were here, at least I'd have the option. "If you go into it thinking it's gonna be all screwed up then chances are, it's gonna get screwed up. It's like probability. If you think it, I'll happen."

Everyone's just kind of silent and I think it's because nobody wants to laugh at how serious Britt just was.

"Yeah, but that's the thing. What if I want it to last but he doesn't?" Tina asks, bringing the seriousness back.

"Break up with him before he breaks up with you," Santana replies. "He's going to be in college surrounded by hot little college ass. You really expect him to be faithful to you? I say dump him before he does it to you. There's more fish in the river, or whatever."

"But what if he _does _want to be with me?" Tina says. "What if I'm reading too much into all of it and he really is just stressed about SAT prep and not purposely blowing me off?"

"Guys are just confusing," Mercedes chimes in. "It's hard to know what they want."

Brittany perks up at this, "And they never tell you what they want unless it's sex."

"So most of the time, we're just stuck guessing," Santana mumbles.

"Is that how it was with you, Quinn?" Tina asks.

"Huh?" She caught me a little off guard and I wasn't all the way paying attention. I know she's just asking because she wants to include me in the conversation, which is sweet. "Is that how what was?"

"Your relationship with Puck. Were you just kinda guessing all the time?"

When she says his name, something happens. Like something inside of me comes undone. I just reach over to the end table beside Mercedes' bed and grab my cup of water because it feels like I have to throw up. My stomach is tight and it feels like it turned to stone inside of me or something. I feel sick. Nauseous. Kind of like morning sickness with Beth, but a little more harsh and not so mellow. And all she did was say his name…

"I'd hardly call that a relationship," I mumble, swallowing another sip of water to calm my stomach. I never know what I'm going to get at the mention of Puck. Most of the time when people say his name, I just get angry. But sometimes, although it's rare, I'll start to feel sick and Jessica said that's normal too considering what happened between us.

"You should call it a family," Santana snickers and it's like a reflex with the way I throw my water across the room and hit her smack in the face with the cup. "HEY!"

Everyone is laughing except me and except Santana and I think it's because everyone thought I was just trying to be funny but Santana knows I did it seriously. She knows I wasn't joking. She knows it was deadly serious and she knows that I _meant _to hurt her. I wish it was something that would burn her eyes and stain her clothes, something other than just water. I know all this rage inside of me isn't healthy and I am kind of sorry that it all came out on Santana, but she shouldn't have done that. She has no right and she has no business talking about it. In fact, if I were sitting beside her, I might have punched her instead. _You don't talk about my child in any way, shape or form. You do not mention anything that has to do with her._

"Hey…" Mercedes starts to speak gently, because I think she's started to notice that I was being very serious. I wasn't being funny. She can tell by the way I'm still glaring at Santana like I want to kill her. And in some ways, I do. "Hey, why don't we play something. Isn't that what we do at sleepovers? Let's play something. Truth or dare? Quinn, you go first."

_Not until Santana gets it. Not until the bitch knows that she crossed a line with me and if she knows what's good for her, she'd never cross it again because that's when she'll die. Never talk about my child. And don't ever insinuate that I am anything more to Puck than the mother of his kid. I am nothing more to him and nothing less. He is no family to me. Next time, it won't be water. I promise._

I think Santana gets it because she starts to look away. Her face softens and she looks away and my glare doesn't stop until our eye contact breaks completely.

"Quinn, start it off," Mercedes says again, this time tapping my leg.

I take a deep breath to rid myself of the anger I just felt and try to calm down. "Tina, truth or dare?"

"Truth," Tina says.

"Is it true that you never let Mike go past second base?" I ask, just because that's a rumor I heard and I don't really care if it's true or not, but I need something to at least pretend like I'm interested in this stupid game.

Even as Tina starts to answer, I can't even concentrate. I just can't stop glaring at Santana. I can't stop thinking about what she was implying when she said Puck and I should be considered a family…

"_Emily?" Jessica calls her name again, gently this time. I've been in four group sessions with Emily so far and we always sit beside each other, but we never talk. I don't think Emily knows how to talk. She just comes to group, sits down and listens. Intently. She nods when she needs to and shakes her head. Sometimes she'll clear her throat but really, that's all. "It's your turn to share. Can you tell us about a time where you felt powerless?"_

_Emily tucks a strand of her curly blonde hair behind her ear and adjusts her glasses. During group, we're supposed to turn towards whatever groupmate is speaking at the time, so I shift my chair just a little and prepare myself to listen. Emily's eyes never leave the ground._

"_I um, felt powerless once when my old coworker… forced himself on me," she speaks slowly, like she has to think and calculate every word that comes out of her mouth but her voice is strong. "We were hanging out at the office Christmas party and he was drunk. Followed me into the bathroom. And he… raped me, I guess," she shrugs._

"_Great job, Emily," Jessica nods her head. "And can you tell us what methods you've chosen to overcome those feelings?"_

"_Um… well… for a while there, I just… didn't. I kept seeing him. At work. And it was like… I was there again. Every time I saw his face, every time I heard his voice. It felt like I was back in that bathroom stall again… and it just… made me feel like… like maybe I don't deserve peace. Because I… I did make out with him, you know. We made out really heavy at first and then he moved in and… I didn't say no. Not at first. It wasn't like… you know. Like you see in the movies. I didn't push and scream and kick. I just… I said yes eventually. When I knew he wasn't going to stop. So I guess I deserved it in some ways. But every time I saw him at work, I felt… sick. Like I had to throw up and sometimes, I did…," Emily speaks so slowly, like she's piecing it all together as she goes along._

_I reach over to the table and quietly grab a tissue to wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks. I don't even know why I'm crying. It's not like I know Emily personally or anything. I guess I just… feel for her…. I don't know…_

_Jessica said group is meant to show us that we're not alone with our feelings…_

"Yo, earth to Quinn," Santana's voice is annoyed, but I don't really notice.

"Hmm?" I have to physically shake my head to clear my thoughts from it.

"It's your turn. Tina asked you a question. Are you even in there?" She squints her eyes but I ignore her snarky tone and turn to Tina.

"What'd you say?" I ask her.

"Truth or dare?" Tina asks again.

"Truth," I mumble. Truth is, I'm still a little shaken by what I remembered from group therapy…

"Did it hurt to have a baby?" she asks, her tone full of eagerness. _Boring question._

"Oh, boo!" Santana takes the thought right out of my head. "That question sucks. We all know it felt like she was crapping out a serrated knife. Ask a juicy question."

"Like what?" Tina asks.

"Yeah, like what?" I ask too and I immediately wish I hadn't because I know Santana is about to find whatever weakness I have and just… hone in on it. I don't even know how she does what she does, but she does it and she's good at it.

"Like…" she thinks out loud and I'm scared. Truly terrified. "Like… like okay. After all your horribly failed relationships with men — Puck knocking you up, Finn dumping you for the troll who lives under the bridge — have you considered being gay?"

_See? I don't know, I don't know how she does it but it's like she knows! It's like she somehow figures out all my vulnerabilities and attacks them! How the hell does she know? How is she so far inside my head?!_

"Ew, gross!" I exclaim, even sticking my tongue out for a little added drama. "That's gross! Santana, I don't even like my _own _vagina, why would I like someone else's?! That's gross! Never! Ever! Ew!"

_I am such an awful liar… I could probably stand to tell the truth. But… no. This is the truth. This right here is the truth. I'm not gay… and I'm never gonna be gay… I AM telling the truth! Maybe if I convince them that I'm just so repulsed by this… they'll never ever ever ever in a million years think that maybe I could be… gay..._

"Oh, stop. How are you gonna knock it if you've never even tried it?!" Santana scoffs.

"Yeah," Brittany starts. "I didn't know but then I tried it and it was like, sunshine and unicorns and rainbows."

…_.I've gotten vibes from Santana and Brittany ever since this sleepover started. I mean really, when Santana started running her fingers through Brittany's hair, my gaydar went off automatically. They're just… way too close. Too close to be just friends. So I think it's safe to say that maybe they're… gay…. and maybe… maybe they can give me… advice? Okay, what harm could there be in admitting it? It's just Santana and Brittany, who won't judge because I'm pretty sure they're gayish too. And Mercedes never judges. And Tina… I'm pretty sure she wouldn't judge. Maybe I could… just…_

"I have —" I start, but once again… I'm saved. Saved by the doorbell. _Oh thank god._

"I think my mom might have ordered in another pizza," Mercedes says and stands up.

"I'm gonna go grab another drink," Tina says and stands up too.

"Me too," I stand up quick, before Santana or Brittany can ask me to finish what I just started to say. Before I know it, all of us are following Mercedes down the steps. I'm the last one in the line down the steps and I'm grateful because now nobody can see the way the gay question made me sweat so much that there's a sweat mark in the middle of my back.

Tina heads to the kitchen along with Santana and Brittany while Mercedes answers the door. And I'm on my way to the kitchen too, but because I'm the last one in the line to go down the steps, I'm the one who is there when Mercedes pulls open the door.

And my stomach practically falls out of my ass when I see that it's not the pizza man standing on the porch.

_It's Rachel._


	11. (You Drive Me) Crazy

As she stands at the door, I stand frozen on the steps just a few paces behind Mercedes. I don't think I could move another inch even if I tried. And it's not until this very moment that I realize I've been on autopilot this whole time. This whole time, I've been coasting and just kind of relying on muscle memory to get me through the day and sure, it's been working. I mean, it almost got me through a whole sleepover. But now, autopilot isn't good enough. Now, the plane has just been driven directly into the throes of a hurricane with whirlwinds and heavy rain and I have to take over and fly this thing for real. I'm in panic mode. Every light on the dashboard is telling me that I'm in danger and if I had any sense, I'd turn around and land now, before I crash and burn. Only I can't do that. I can't control the damn airplane.

Because I can't even move.

Mercedes says something to her, but I don't know what because I can't even hear. All I see is her lips moving, and in place of where her words should be, I hear the sound of my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Mercedes steps aside to invite her in and suddenly, everything stops. It's like the calm in the middle of the storm. The eye of the hurricane is passing over me now and everything has settled just enough to let me breathe. And listen.

"Sorry I'm dripping all over your floor," she says to Mercedes and her voice breaks at the same time her face does. She bursts into thick tears and all I can think about is how I'd walk through fire just to make them stop.

"You're...cool," Mercedes says back to her but the tone of her voice isn't all that reassuring. And all I can think about is how I'd be way more convincing if I were the one to comfort her. Mercedes looks at her like she's a creature from another planet and I want to just get ahold of myself and scream "they're just tears, you idiot! Hug her!" but I don't. I grab ahold of the railing to make sure I don't float away. "What's going on? Why're you all wet?"

"I walked here," I can hardly hear Rachel say over the sound of my own heart. "Finn dumped me," she chokes on a fresh round of tears. And all I can feel is my heart stopping right inside my chest. She eyeballs Santana coming from the kitchen and I want to tell Santana that I'll kill her with my bare hands if she says _anything _to make this worse, but I don't. I just squeeze the railing harder so I don't float away. "Please… please don't say I told you so," she struggles to hold back her sobs as she looks Santana in the eye.

She stands there with soaking wet strands of that chocolate brown hair dripping all down her back, and I can't help but think how fitting it was for it to have rained. It's almost like Rachel herself phoned the weather gods above and told them to make it rain as she walked the half mile to Mercedes' house. That's something that would only happen to drama queen Rachel. That kind of theatricality doesn't exist in anyone else's life.

Everyone wants to talk about why. Why Finn broke up with her, why she walked over here instead of asking her dads to drop her off, why she decided to come here of all places. They all want to talk about the why. Why why why. But what does it matter? The reason doesn't change the outcome. All that matters is that she ended up here with soaking wet clothes and tears so rich that you can still somehow tell the difference between them and the raindrops.

"You were just missing a game of truth or dare. We came down to get more snacks. Quinn'll help you get cleaned up," Mercedes says and motions towards me on the steps with her head. "She'll show you where everything's at and grab you some of my clothes."

She looks up at me and I swear, those eyes are the most beautiful shade of brown there ever was. Her eyes look at me like they're afraid, like they're beneath me and waiting for me, the evil queen to say "off with her head!" and that makes something inside of me just go completely dead. It's not that I don't think she has reason to look at me like that, because she does. I've never been anything but awful to her, so why shouldn't she fear me?

I want to run down these steps and wrap my arms around her, squeeze her and tell her that everything's okay while I make like Santana and Brittany and run my fingers through her hair so it doesn't tangle. But I don't. I just let go of the railing because I'm pretty sure I won't float away. And put on my best annoyed face. And my very best annoyed voice. And say:

"Hurry up."

The way she follows me up the steps with her head down starts to feel like the old Quinn and Rachel relationship, and it feels good long enough for us to climb the steps and get to the upstairs hallway without Santana or Brittany or Tina or Mercedes to think anything's different. They do what everybody does and chalk it up to the fact that Rachel and I just "don't get each other." Being annoyed with her feels good until it stops without warning, just as I'm about to show her to the bathroom and I'm left feeling all naked and exposed.

Nobody told me what it was going to be like to _not_ hate Rachel all the time and it's an uncomfortable feeling. I don't know which feels worse, though. Should I ride this uncomfortable wave of not completely hating her and be nice? Or should I try to force myself back into that role of hating her, even when I feel like I don't anymore?

She stands outside of the bathroom door with her eyes locked down on the cream colored carpet and it's not until I get my own head on straight that I realize she's only standing outside because I'm blocking the door and she's too afraid to ask me to move. It feels like crap to have her so afraid of me like this. So much that I can't even believe that I used to love this. Her fearing me. Her being too nervous and too beneath me to even look me in the eye. There used to be a Quinn — and she's still inside of me somewhere — that relished in the very idea of Rachel bowing down to me. Now that she's in front of me and she's actually doing it… really, all it makes me want to do is slap myself silly.

"Towels and washcloths are in the cabinet beside the sink, turn and pull up on the lever to work the shower," I still mumble to her, but my mumble is in a much more pleasant tone and I can tell she noticed because she actually looks up. Then I step away from the bathroom door. "I'll find clothes that'll fit and leave them outside the door."

It's getting to be a little too much for me. I know Mercedes would probably prefer to be the one to go through her drawers and find clothes that she doesn't care about enough to let Rachel borrow, but I'll do it. I'll do it just so I can stop seeing those big brown eyes looking at me like she just lost her best friend. I'll do it just so I can resist every urge in my body that's telling me to hug her and put my lips against hers and tell her that I would never break her heart. I know that I'll never be able to do that. And that realization in itself sucks.

That realization is enough to make the tears prick my eyes. And enough to make me have to bite my lip as I walk to Mercedes' room and pray that maybe I'll have enough time to have a small crying fit before the rest of the girls come back upstairs. But then —

"Quinn, wait," Rachel's voice is soft, the way it travels up the hallway and makes me stop in my tracks. I turn around slowly, to make sure my cheeks have enough time to stop being red and my eyes have enough time to stop being so watery. "Could you stay? And wait for me? So I don't get lost?" she talks just barely above a whisper.

My first instinct is to say "of course! I'll wait right here and talk to you through the door so you don't get lonely! And maybe I'll hear you sing! Do you sing in the shower? Probably, huh? Your voice is like an angel's lullaby. Please sing me something!" but of course, I don't. I let the other Quinn — the one that's inside of me beating down the box I shoved her in — out. And somehow, both of the Quinns decide not to fight each other today. Both of the Quinns meet each other in the middle and work together enough for me to say:

"This is what you get for ditching your girls to hang out with a stupid boy."

She winces at my words, but takes them in with a very slight nod. Then, she clears her throat and messes with the droopy wet fabric of her fancy-shmancy purple blouse. "I thought you thought Finn was one of the good ones," her eyes meet mine for just a split second before she looks down again. "That's want you always told me."

_Caught. Busted. Red handed._

"Well…" I start, just hoping that somehow Old Quinn can come out and fix this. "He's still a boy and boys are stupid." _Decent, but not great. Old Quinn could have done better than that._

Rachel accepts this, which is enough to make me breathe again, then opens the bathroom door and goes inside. And the only thing I'm thinking is that it just shouldn't be this hard. Interacting with Rachel shouldn't be as hard as it is and I really, really wish it wasn't. Honestly, it's just exhausting. Having to think after every word she says, having to process everything and calculate a response before I give it just to make sure she thinks that I still hate her and nothing more. It's the most mentally exhausting thing and I don't want it to be. Not anymore. I wish this came more naturally to me. I wish it didn't matter whether she thinks I hate her or not. I wish she could know that I like her, that I _really _like her and me treating her accordingly wouldn't be such a big… thing. But it is and it's exhausting and I just don't know how much longer I can do this.

"Rachel," I catch her just before she closes the bathroom door. She opens it back up so she can see me. "I'll be

outside after I get clothes for you."

* * *

It's funny how a couple hours ago, I was sitting on Mercedes' bed with her, Tina, Santana and Brittany and I was secretly miserable because I wished Rachel were here. I was watching Santana lace her fingers through Brittany's hair and I was jealous because I wanted to be doing the same thing to Rachel. I was laughing at the funny stories Tina told about the things Mike's parents would do but I was actually dying on the inside because I knew that tonight was going to be spent just wishing Rachel and I had whatever Santana and Brittany had.

I was staring at two girls, obviously in love with each other but only flaunting it in privacy and I was jealous of that. I was wishing I had what they had because I guess a secret relationship that nobody knows about except for the people you trust most in the world is better than no relationship at all. I was at a sleepover with some of my favorite people on this planet, and I was miserable because the one person I wanted to be there most in this world wasn't.

How the tables have turned.

It's not the fact that we're halfway through our second large pizza and collectively chugged eighteen cans of Mountain Dew between all of us that's making me jittery. Nor is it the fact that I've eaten maybe sixteen Oreos by myself. It's not even the fact that we're all sitting in a circle, facing each other and revealing our darkest secrets right now.

What's making me jittery is the fact that I can't stop thinking about how beautiful she looks. I found an old yellow t-shirt in Mercedes' drawer for her to wear, and a pair of old running shorts. Of course, Mercedes' clothes are a little big for her, but the way everything just hangs off of her body and nothing clings to her skin is what's driving me crazy. Her hair dried in a sort of wavy kind of way and she hasn't ran a brush through it so it's just sitting there, wavy and natural and I just want to touch it. Her legs are pulled into her chest and she rests her chin on her kneecaps, still chewing a piece of pepperoni and she has a little bit of grease on her lips but I can't tell her to wipe it off because then she'd know that I've been spending the last ten minutes staring at her lips.

I keep sneaking glances across the circle and sooner or later, Santana is going to figure me out. Tina and Mercedes probably wouldn't notice. I know for sure Brittany wouldn't. But Santana would. Santana would call me out on the fact that I've spent this whole "circle of trust" game just staring at Rachel and she might even expose me to everyone.

Just a couple hours ago, I was contemplating telling everyone in this room that I could possibly very probably actually maybe kind of sort of thinking that I might be...gay. But now, that seems like the scariest thing in the world.

I wanted her here so badly at first. But now I wish she was gone. Hanging out with Finn again.

"It's like for the first time literally _ever_," Santana is speaking but she's not really looking at anybody. Her face is blank and she's staring across the circle. "They can break my heart. And I'm actually scared." The great thing about this circle of trust game thing that Tina suggested is that none of us are really judging and we all kind of get it and forget about it after their turn is up. It's kind of unspoken.

We'll never breathe a word outside of this room about Mercedes being afraid that nobody wants to date her because of her weight. And we'll never talk about the way Tina cried a couple minutes ago when she told us she just doesn't feel like she belongs anywhere. We all hugged Britt at the beginning of this circle when she told us she was afraid she'll never graduate, but we moved on from that. And after Santana finishes crying about how she's in love with someone that could break her heart, we'll all support her and know that she's talking about Brittany, but we'll never say.

We're all silent and respectful, letting Santana wipe her tears away and act like they never existed, but we're not silent for too long. We just move right along into the next person and it sounds horrible, but that's how it works. We don't dwell too long on anyone's problems and that's why we all feel so open, I think.

"Rachel," Mercedes says. Usually Santana would call the next person since it was just her turn, but she's still gathering herself. "You next."

I look at the three slices of pizza left and pretend to be very interested in the way the cheese is melted over top of the pepperoni and the way the cheese is falling out of the stuffed crust. I guess I'm glad she didn't pick me to follow up after Santana's forbidden love story with my own forbidden love story, but I still don't know if I'm ready to hear anything Rachel says. Especially when I know she's probably going to talk about Finn.

"Um," Rachel puts her legs down and sits like the rest of us, with her legs folded. Jessica called that an "open body" position. It supposedly suggests that she's "ready to listen and be heard." Maybe it's not all bull crap after all. "Well… Finn," she starts.

_Finn, Finn, Finn. That's all you ever talk about. Who cares about Finn?_

"He broke up with me tonight. Everything was fine at the movies. Then he drove me home after the movies and just…," her voice cracks, and Tina hands her a paper towel for a tissue. "And instead of going inside to face my dads and tell them that I was just _totally_ humiliated… I walked here." She wipes her face with the paper towel but I didn't see any tears. "And for a while, I totally forgot about what just happened to me tonight."

Everyone smiles except me. I want to smile, I do. I just don't want anyone to think that maybe there's a reason behind my smile…

"I've never been to one of these. A slumber party," she continues. "Not even in elementary. I was never invited to any of these. And we're about to graduate in a year. I've been thinking about all the things I just… missed out on. Because I'm not popular or… or pretty." _Yes, yes you are. You're beautiful. How do you not see that? _"Anyway, thank you guys. For not making me miss out on the sleepover experience."

_How have you never been to a slumber party? Wasn't that like, everyone's birthday party in third grade? I wasn't pretty or popular either. I was fat and gross and just awful but I still got invited. Granted, every slumber party Lucy went to, she called Mom and went home crying because the other girls were complete jerks and just needed someone to take the brunt of their fat jokes. But still… I was invited…_

"Quinn," Rachel clears her throat from being all choked up and I didn't know how much I love hearing her say my name until this moment. I look up from my pizza haven and meet her eyes. "It's your turn."

"Mhm," I nod my head and I guess they think I'm thinking because I'm being so quiet but really… I just can't believe she's never been to a slumber party.

_Well… she's got the whole eat a hundred slices of pizza experience. And the gorge yourself on junk food until you want to puke; she ate like twenty Twinkies herself. It's early enough for her to get the makeover experience. And maybe before she falls asleep, she'll experience the "prank the first person who falls asleep" thing. She got the deep conversation and secret sharing experience from circle of trust. But you know what experience she didn't get from this slumber party? What experience she didn't get? Not yet…_

They're expecting me to come back with some big extravagant secret. I could probably tell them about my summer in Pennsylvania, I think that's what Mercedes is expecting me to say with the way she's looking at me. I could tell them about Lucy and how she was two-hundred pounds with braces and acne and had to leave the sleepovers early because everyone was mean. I could even tell them about why Mom took every scale out of the house back in ninth grade and how I think I'm starting to have that problem again since I ate so much pizza and know I have to get rid of it once everyone falls asleep. I could even let them in on how I hate Dad, about all the nights I had to go sleep with Franny because their bedroom was right next to mine and I'd hate to hear Mom crying all night. Or maybe I can tell them how much I miss Beth, about how much I wish I wouldn't have given her up. And how much I hate Puck because of some things that Jessica and the girl in group named Emily made me realize about him and me.

I could tell them a bunch of things about me. I don't know which one is more juicy than the other. Or which one would make me cry less. But right now, I'm thinking about Rachel. And what would make her happy.

So I break the circle, stand up and say, "I have an idea."

Everyone just kind of stares at me like I'm speaking a foreign language and that's okay. They'll catch on and get into it after I do what it is I'm doing. They probably know that this is somewhat of a deflection technique, something I'm doing just so I don't have to embarrass myself during this circle, but who cares. I mean yeah, it's deflection because I _really _don't want to share. But it's also for a good cause. I swear.

"Guys, Rachel's never been to a sleepover before." I tell them, and grab my phone from the mound of pillows on the bed.

"Yeah, and? What's that have to do with anything?" Santana asks. "I just cried my eyes out to you and if you think you're getting out of this —"

"She's _never been to a sleepover before._ Don't you know what that means?" I shove the auxiliary cord from Mercedes' iHome into my phone's port. "She's never done the whole… jumping on beds, blasting music… screaming girl tunes…" I scroll through my phone for the perfect song… and as soon as I see it, it's like everything clicks and I know it's perfect.

As soon as the song starts, Mercedes, Tina and Brittany all realize that my idea is genius. They're the first three to stand up. And I don't know why, but it's like the power of music blasting so loud the neighbors could probably file a noise complaint makes me feel… brave. Like I can do anything with these girls.

I'm lip syncing like an idiot, but I don't care. I go over to Rachel, still sitting, and hold my hands out to her. And I know everyone could get the wrong idea from this, but why do I care if they do? Who cares if anyone thinks I have a crush on Rachel right now? Who cares if anyone sees anything more than a girl trying to get another girl to dance and sing old Britney Spears songs with her so she doesn't feel like she completely missed out on her childhood?

She takes my hands and lets me pull her up and before I know it, she's singing right along with me except she's not lip syncing. She's actually singing and I didn't think it was possible, but she sounds horrible and I think she's doing it on purpose because that's all part of the experience.

Santana is a tough nut to crack, but all it takes is Brittany pulling out her ponytail and swinging her hair around like a mad woman to get her up and on her feet and by the time the chorus rolls around, Santana is jumping and dancing and screaming right along with us. And we sound horrible. But we don't care. We all sing in horrible unison.

"**YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY! I JUST CAN'T SLEEP! I'M SO EXCITED, I'M IN TOO DEEP. OH, CRAZY! BUT IT FEELS ALRIGHT! BABY THINKING OF YOU KEEPS ME UP ALL NIGHT!"**

It's strange how I feel like the universe just stopped. And for these few moments in time, this is all that there is and all that they'll ever be. I feel comfortable. At ease. Wholesome. Like the only cure in the world for everything I was feeling is right here in this room with these girls. Nothing else matters. I ate so much pizza with the thought that I'd get rid of it, but that's okay. It can stay. I won't throw it up. And I think that maybe… just maybe… I can beat this whole thing.

It's a feeling that I carry with me. All the way over to my phone to pick a new girly song that we can flop around to and sing horribly since (You Drive Me) Crazy is coming to an end. It's a feeling that doesn't stop and doesn't go away.

Not even when I open up my phone to a Facebook notification that says **Shelby Corcoran sent you a friend request!**


	12. Wake Up Call

_When I first got here and they did that whole intake thing where they sat there with my mom and told her exactly how long I was going to be in here for and where and when she could pick me up and visit me and all that stuff, it felt like my life was over. I remember them telling me that I'd be in that place for 90 whole days and as soon as they said it, it was like floodgates open and tears rolled down my cheeks and I just couldn't stop._

_They made me give them all of my things and said that I'd get some of them back after they screened them and made sure they weren't "inappropriate", then took my shirt and pants and gave me a shirt and pants that had been "pre-approved." I looked at my mom and cried because I couldn't believe she was actually leaving me there for something so STUPID. But she just walked down the hallway, wiping her own tears, and left. Just like that. And I became less of who I was before._

_I won't lie. The first few days were rough. It really felt like they took every shred of humanity I had in me and threw it away with the trash. I had no more privacy, no more alone time and no time to just sit back and think. If you've never been through it, then just think about feeling like you're an animal instead of a person. An animal told when to eat, when to sleep, when to pee. If you've been through this, then you know exactly what I'm talking about._

_It's funny how I can sit here in this chair across from Jessica for what's probably the 30th time since I've been here, and remember how naked and exposed I felt the very first time I saw her. When she introduced herself to me and asked me a bunch of questions to get to know me. The first time I was just so convinced that talking to her wouldn't actually work._

_But I sit here in front of her again, I find myself wishing that I could never leave this place. I know it's a dangerous thought and probably super unethical but in a way, I feel like Jessica is my best friend. And I can't believe that after I have my last session in a few weeks and leave this place after 90 days, I'll never speak to her again._

"_So you have what? 15 days left? 12, maybe?" she sits down in her usual seat across from me and pulls her shoulder-length brunette hair into a ponytail. "Are you excited to get the heck outta here?"_

"_A little," I admit, then pick the yellow nail polish off of my thumbnail. My roommate's going to be pissed when I go back upstairs and she sees that I ruined all two hours of her hard work on my nails, but I can't help it. My hands have to be busy while I'm talking to Jessica in some way or another. She says that it's my anxiety. But I think it's just a habit. "I miss my big queen-sized bed."_

_Jessica snorts , then offers me a fidget spinner that I gratefully take. "Can't say I blame you. Going from a queen to a twin has to be hell, huh?"_

"_It is! Like I can't even roll over without falling off the bed. I'm so used to stretching all the way out and here, I'll be lucky if I sneeze and stay on the bed. It's totally nerve wracking."_

_She laughs some more and puts on her glasses so she can start to take her notes on the session. "What else do you miss about home? You miss your friends? You miss Beth?"_

"_Uh-huh," I nod and wince a little at her name, but it doesn't sting as bad as it used to. Before when she used to mention Beth, the entire session would go downhill because I'd either cry or get so angry that I'd walk out. But it's getting better now. Perhaps that's what we call growth? "I always kinda miss her. But it's not like I see her, you know? I just… miss her from a distance."_

"_I thought you said the adoption wasn't closed."_

"_It's not. It's open….ish. I mean, I know who has her and I know where Shelby lives and stuff and I guess I see pictures of her from time to time but it's not like I just walk down the street and hang out with her."_

"_Does Shelby live in Lima, too?"_

"_No, just like ten minutes outside of it."_

"_Then why haven't you seen her since she was born? The adoption's open which means Shelby obviously wouldn't care if you —"_

"_She totally wouldn't care if I… I mean she wouldn't deny me. If I asked. But I just… I don't know…"_

"_Why haven't you asked?"_

"_...I don't know," I shrug. I feel the tears coming on but I'm able to blink them back before they fall. "I guess… I guess I just don't know if I'm… ready for that yet. I… I miss her a lot and all. But I don't know if that means I want to see her."_

"_Understandable. But what do you say we make that one of your goals for when you go home? To reach out and ask Shelby if you could see Beth? Why don't we make that a goal?"_

"_...Sure," I shrug again and this time I feel a little guilty because I know in my heart of hearts, that will probably never happen. I don't think I'll ever be strong enough to see Beth. That used to scare me to death but these days, I kind of just accept it. I'll never be at a point where I can go over and see Beth and not want to stuff her in my purse and bring her home with me._

_She scribbles that down on the goal sheet that I get on our last session together, then puts the pen down. "What about school? And your friends? Don't you wanna get back to them? And Glee Club?"_

"_I guess," I mumble and look down at the floor._

"_Eye contact, Quinn. Remember. Eye contact."_

_I look up at her this time but mumble again, "I guess."_

"_You've never really told me about Glee Club. So tell me about it. What do you guys do? Just go around being… gleeful?"_

"_It's show choir," I explain and let the smile tugging at my lips come through. I forgot just how much I missed Glee… I used to think that it was just a sad part of my life and I only liked it so much because it was the only thing that made me happy while I was pregnant. But now I just… I don't know, I think I just miss it in general. "We go to competitions and stuff. There's sectionals, then regionals, then nationals. And we sing and perform. It's… it's a lot of fun, actually."_

"_So that must mean you can sing and dance really well, huh?"_

"_Not really. I mean, I'm okay. But I'm not the best. I'm not the best singer or the best dancer. I'm no Brittany."_

"_Brittany's the star?"_

"_No, no, just the best dancer. Well, her and Mike."_

"_Who's the best singer?"_

"_Rachel. Hands down. Maybe Mercedes too, but Rachel's just… she's got something about her that just… I don't know… she…" my voice trails off as I try to find the right words to describe her aside from incredible. "She makes you look at her. No matter what. She just gets up on the stage and commands your attention and you just can't help but stare at her and admire her and… she's amazing. She's so good."_

"_Rachel's a friend?"_

"_A friend? No," I shake my head. The thought is actually kind of funny. Rachel? A friend of mine? Ha. That's funny. I just left out the fact that she's intolerable. "She's the most annoying and frustrating thing on the planet. She could make a nun cuss in church. She's like a Cabbage Patch Kid mixed with a Teletubby and has the sex appeal of a Sunday School teacher. I've eaten broccoli that was more appealing than her."_

"_Woah," Jessica holds her hands up. "Time out, time out. What did Rachel ever do to you?"_

"_You just…" Good question…. I don't have an answer… "If you knew her, you'd understand. She's dating Finn."_

"_And that's why you don't care for her?"_

"_No, no, I could care less about that. I mean, Finn's hers. I don't want him. She can do whatever she wants." I shrug but I don't think that's all that convincing. "She's also Shelby's daughter."_

"_...I thought you said Beth was Shelby's only daughter?"_

"_She gave Rachel up for adoption."_

"_And so that's why you don't care for Rachel? Because she's Beth's sister? I'm just trying to figure this out."_

"_I don't like Rachel because Rachel's Rachel. There's nothing to figure out, Jess. That's all there is to it." I'm starting to get annoyed. Okay, I know I don't have any valid reasons to hate Rachel's guts the way I do, but I do. Okay? I just do. There is no deeper meaning._

"_See, I don't think that's true." Jessica folds her hands and sits back like she's trying to study me. "I think there is something else to it."_

"_Why? Why not just take my word for it?"_

"_Because when you told me she was the star of Glee Club, your face completely lit up and it was like you were talking about magic. That doesn't happen with people you hate, Quinn."_

"_Yeah, well. You don't know Rachel." That's all I can even muster up to say._

"_...Have you ever considered the fact that you may like Rachel?" she asks, after a few minutes of silence._

"_Sometimes I like her. She's not horrible all of the time. But like 90% of the time, she's intolerable. Unless she's singing, I can't stand her."_

"_That's not what I meant, Quinn."_

"_Well what did you mean?"_

"_I meant…" she hesitates. "Sometimes… when we like someone a lot… our brain mistakes that for dislike. It's like… you ever hear the expression "loving someone so much you hate them"? It's like that. For really emotionally closed off people… they tend to mistake that love for intense hatred because this person has… broken through their walls. Understand?"_

"_...No. I don't like Rachel at all. It's not like that for me. I just really don't like her."_

"_Consider the fact that you don't."_

"_What?"_

"_...Consider how you grew up. Consider that nobody ever told you what having a crush on another girl was supposed to feel like."_

"_I'm done," I mumble and stand up. "You're not about to sit here and tell me that I'm…. I'm…" I can't even say it. It's so disgusting and horribly wrong and she's WRONG. "You're wrong. I'm allowed to dislike Rachel."_

"_You can't just walk out on every session that upsets you, Quinn! Sit down. And listen to what I'm trying to say to you. You can sit here and tell me that you dislike Rachel and I'm not saying that you don't. I'm not. What I am saying is that I think if you consider a few things, you can find out where the source of your dislike for her is coming from. And I suspect that source may be because she stirs up feelings within you that you want to suppress. Feelings that you hate."_

_I sit back down and say nothing. But she's wrong. She's very very wrong. I'm not… that. I'm not. I've never kissed another girl, I've never thought about another girl in an unnatural way and I sure as hell don't think of Rachel that way._

"_Quinn, I'm not here to judge you. But if you don't look inside yourself for these answers, you're never going to get better. If you don't confront this head on and… allow yourself to be who you really are… you'll never stop hating yourself. You don't have to walk around hating yourself anymore. Because what you are and what you feel isn't wrong just because someone told you it is. It's not wrong. Stop hating yourself."_

_I fold my arms and still say nothing. Because I have nothing to say._

"_You don't have to tell me these answers out loud. You can keep them to yourself. But just be truthful. Okay?"_

_I just keep staring forward._

"_When you start to like Rachel, do you automatically shut that feeling down? Do you ever feel the desire to be closer to her? Do you shut that feeling down when you feel it? Have you ever spontaneously wanted to touch her? Do you shut that feeling down when you do?"_

_I blink once and the tears completely fall. Jessica hands me a tissue and stops talking, which I'm grateful for. I dab my eyes, then clear my throat. And then:_

"_A-Are you trying to say that I'm G—"_

"Quinn!"

I feel the weight of her hands on me, and she shakes my body back and forth after she squawks my name with her loud, screechy, annoying voice. Before I pop my eyes open, I really have to weigh out the pros and cons of slapping my mother.

Pros: She'll get the hell away from me and understand I mean business.

Cons: She'll probably kick me out the house. Again.

"Quinn! Get up! Now!"

I roll my body over onto my side to face her and I swear the pros of slapping her and looking better and better and better. It is a Saturday morning and it's the first morning since I've gotten home from Pennsylvania that I've been able to sleep in. I was having a really good dream, I was soundly and restfully sleeping… WHY in the hell would she wake me up?!

"Quinn!"

Finally, I clench my fists together to will myself to calm down, then sit up with a hard, long, drawn out "WHAT?!"

"YOUR THERAPIST JUST CALLED."

"SO?! GET OFF OF ME!" I snatch my arm out of her grip and I haven't felt this angry since the day I found that cup of scotch on the counter by the Keurig.

She grabs my arm again, harder this time. "SO SHE TOLD ME YOU MISSED EIGHT SESSIONS. EIGHT?! I HAD TO TALK HER OUT OF DROPPING YOU AS A PATIENT."

"Congrats," I mumble and lie back down. I pull my pillow over my head and she yanks it back off. "STOP!"

"NO! GET UP! NOW! GET DRESSED! YOU'RE GOING TO THERAPY IN AN HOUR. I MEAN IT."

"Don't be ridiculous," I roll over again and grab another pillow. "They're closed on Saturdays."

"Well today's your lucky day. She set up a special session just for you and you're going. Be downstairs in half an hour or so help me I will GROUND you until graduation. UNDERSTAND?!"

She turns and leaves my room and leaves the door open behind her and I don't particularly know why, but this really irritates the hell out of me. I know I probably shouldn't. I know I'm just acting out of anger and I'm just mad that she woke me up like this and grabbed her hand around my arm really hard and yelled at me like I was ten-years-old again and left my room without closing the door, but still. I get up, still donning my t-shirt and underwear, and follow her. I catch her just as she's about to go back downstairs.

"You know what?!" I yell, and she stops right on the second step. "I am SO tired of you acting so oblivious! To everything! YOU weren't taking me to therapy! How the hell did you think I was getting there?!"

"Quinn, I —"

"You know Mom? You may be dumb, but I'm not." Now's not the time to bring it up…. now's not the time…. but I can't help it. "I know you've been seeing Dad again. Your too wrapped up in him to notice that I'm not going to therapy. I'm not stupid. I know you've been screwing each other again."

"Quinn, this is not about me and your father. This is about you going to therapy and working your treatment plan."

"Sure it is! It's always about you! It's always about you and about Dad! It's —"

"WHAT DOES IT MATTER? HE'S NEVER HERE WHEN YOU ARE. WHY DOES IT MATTER SO MUCH, QUINN? WHY?"

"BECAUSE YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN'T SEE HIM ANYMORE! AND YOU LIED! YOU SAT THERE IN FRONT OF ME, IN FRONT OF MY THERAPIST AND LIED."

"I DIDN'T KNOW I LIED!" For the first time since Frannie and I kicked the soccer ball into the house and messed up the numbers, my mom yells at me like I am actually her child and not a close friend. It's not all that startling, but it's enough to make me fall completely silent. Silent enough for her to feel like she has the upper hand again. "When I told you I wouldn't see him anymore, I really thought I was telling the truth. I really, really didn't think it'd be this hard. You just… you just don't know, Quinn. You've never been in love with a man."

I guess I can't really argue with her about that. She's right in a sense. I haven't ever really known what it's like to be in love in that way, I guess. But I don't think it really matters. Not when it comes to something like protecting your child…

"I love you, Quinnie," she says and for a second I think she's going to cave in and cry, but I'm wrong. She collects herself as usual and she's back to being the prim and proper and polished Judy Fabray. "I love you and when I thought I lost you, I —"

"More than Dad?" The question shocks me and I swear I didn't even know that it was going to roll off my tongue.

"What?" she asks and I really don't want to repeat myself because I know what I asked is kinda out of line, but…

"You said you love me. You love me more than Dad?"

Silence falls between us. She doesn't answer me right away but honestly? She doesn't really have to. Her hesitation speaks volumes. That's an answer enough for me. She only starts to speak when I roll my eyes and turn to walk away.

"Of course!" her answer makes me stop in my tracks. I still don't believe her. I'm not stupid. I know she's just doing her damage control. "Of course I do!"

"Yeah, right," I head back to my room but she just keeps talking to my back.

"Quinn! Get back here!"

"I'm done talking," I slam my door behind me and rummage through my drawers for a pair of pajama pants that I can just throw on. There aren't many times where I feel utterly ridiculous, but arguing with my mom on a Saturday morning while I'm wearing nothing but my underwear definitely takes me there.

And as if she wants me to take the cons for slapping her, my door flies open again and she stands in the doorway. I have to give it to her. This is the longest she's ever stood her ground with me. Usually she just lets me win and walks away. Looks like she finally grew a pair.

"You have to believe me," she says. Her face is all red and blotchy and I think I see tears on her cheeks from across the room. And for a split second, I do feel bad. For a split second, I think about just telling her that I believe her just to make her feel better. "You don't know what it's like to have to choose between two people you love, but you have to believe me when I say —"

"I don't believe you. I don't believe anything —"

"You're not a parent, Quinn!"

I feel like she just slapped me across the face with an open hand. It stings, it's hard and it makes my jaw drop. It even makes me hurt a little. Actually, I think I would rather she have slapped me…

I shove my legs into my pants and pull them up. Then grab a ponytail holder off my dresser and use it to tie my hair up. Then shove my feet into a pair of my running shoes, without socks. And with that? I brush right past her and head for the steps.

"Quinn!"

She calls after me, but that doesn't make me stop. She just keeps calling my name. Even as I stomp to the kitchen and grab the car keys. And even as I grab a jacket and slam the door behind me. I don't know where I'm going. But it's sure as hell not here.

I just don't know how she could say such a thing to me. Don't get me wrong. I already know she felt that way. I already know that she feels like since I don't have Beth, I'm not a parent and I can't possibly compare to her. I already know she feels like just because I don't parent the way she does — physically — means that I don't know what it's like to _be _a parent. But for her to say it?

_I'm a hundred thousand times better than she is._

I slam the car door shut behind myself and shove my keys into the ignition so hard that I won't be surprised if they broke inside of there. And I know she's watching me from the window as I back out of the driveway, but I don't care. I'm on the road now and I'm away from her.

_I know that I took the easy way out with giving Beth up. I know I was a coward who didn't want to give up my picture perfect teenage life and I know the harder thing would have been to keep her and sacrifice and be a parent. I know when Beth gets older, I'm going to have to answer to her and beg her to believe me when I tell her that giving her up wasn't easy. I already know all of this. But I swear to the God I'm not even sure I believe in anymore that I'm better than my mother. Because Beth would come first, always. I wouldn't stay in a marriage with a man that abuses me and my daughters. I wouldn't let that man continue to manipulate me. And if my daughter happened to attempt suicide partially because that man was so horrible to her, he would never be allowed in my house again so that my daughter can heal. Beth would always come first, above my husband._

_And she would never have to question it, either._

I'm starting to think that Jessica really had no idea what she was talking about. She said that I wouldn't hate my life forever, but I'm really starting to doubt if that's true.

I think I need to start accepting that this is what my life is. It's always going to suck and it's never going to be perfect, so maybe I should just stop trying…

* * *

I don't know how or why I ended up here, but I did. When I got into the car and started driving, it wasn't my intention to come here. But I just kept going and going and I had nowhere specific in mind, and it seems like the fates just wanted me to go here or something, so here I am. Sitting across from Bailey. Watching her type things into my chart. In stunned silence.

I have to admit, I thought she'd be a little more pissed at me than she seems. I thought for sure she'd pull me into her office and tear me to shreds about wasting everyone's time and money.

But she didn't. She invited me in with a smile, told me to sit down and said, "welcome back." She didn't even ask me why I missed so many sessions. She didn't even look like she was so much as annoyed with me. She looked like her usual happy-go-lucky Bailey self.

Finally, she stops typing and opens up a notebook. She clicks her pen, then adjusts some papers on her desk, then looks at me like she _actually _missed me.

"Long time no see!"

"Mhm," I mutter. I trace her eyes to my pajama pants and loose t-shirt, then cover myself as best as I can with my jacket. I know I look horrible. She doesn't have to silently comment. "I um, just… rolled outta bed."

"I see that," she nods. "How was the sleepover yesterday night?"

"What?"

"The sleepover. At your friend Mercedes' house? Your mom mentioned you were at one yesterday night when I called this morning."

"Oh."

"...So why has it been so long since I've seen you?" _There it is. I was waiting for the dreaded question._

"I joined Glee after school…" Usually she gets annoyed if my voice doesn't carry above a mumble, but today she seems okay. "It's every day… until 4:30."

"We can revisit the idea of seeing you in school if you'd like."

"...Sure," I mumble and I'm surprised that. I was halfway expecting myself to tell her no again. But saying yes just felt so natural.

"Is there a period that works best for you?"

"12th. Since I just have study hall."

"Perfect." She writes that down. "Were you crying? Your face is a little red…"

"I had a fight with my mom. It's nothing."

"Oh really? What about?"

"Stupid stuff."

"You think you guys are gonna make up?"

"I dunno."

"Well… your mom loves you a lot. I think you guys will make up."

I'm half tempted to tell her that she doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. She doesn't know the Judy that I know. She knows the Judy that my mom wants her to see. I'm half tempted to tell her that there was only one time in my life I ever felt like my mom truly loved me…

"_I need an ambulance! Please! A-A-At 8748 Wynwood Court. I-It's my daughter sh-she stopped breathing, she's not moving, I don't know what she took! T-There's a pill bottle o-on her bed, I-I-I don't know how many were in there._

_It's happening exactly like you see in the movies. Everything is fuzzy and blurry and I can see myself lying there on the floor and I know I should probably get up to tell Mom that I'm okay, that I just took a few sleeping pills because I was having a hard time falling asleep, but I can't. It's like someone put a thousand pound weight on top of my body and the only way I can get up is if I move it. And I try to open my mouth, I do. Because I just want Mom to know that I'm fine, that I can breathe and that I'm just in a really deep sleep, but my mouth is too heavy to open._

"_Quinn! Honey, honey, it's okay. It's okay, Mommy's here, I'm here," she kneels down on the ground beside me and brushes my hair out of my face. "What did you take, sweetie? Oh sweetie, sweetie, what did you do?"_

_I try to open my mouth again to tell her that I just took a few sleeping pills, but all I do when my mouth opens is cough. She pats my back like I'm a baby again and moves my hair away from my mouth. And then I feel the tips of her fingers graze my lips, and pull them apart. When she puts her fingers in, they're so far that her wedding band scrapes the roof of my mouth. And she makes me gag._

… I guess there's probably a reason why the fates decided to have me drive all the way here on a Saturday morning. Maybe I shouldn't ignore it. Maybe I should actually participate. But I don't feel like talking about Mom.

"It was fine, by the way," I say. She raises her eyebrows at me. "The sleepover, I mean. It was fine. Fun, actually."

"Oh yeah? Tell me about it."

"It was okay. We just did the normal stuff, you know. Watch movies, eat popcorn, talk about boys. The usual."

"But you had fun?"

"I did. Until Shelby sent me a friend request on Facebook. That kinda ruined the mood a little for me."

"Why's that?"

"Nevermind." _I still haven't confirmed or denied the request. Every time I feel like I'm strong enough to, every time I feel like I've gathered enough courage… I chicken out. I exit out of the Facebook app so quick and try to forget that her friend request is just sitting there. _"It was weird, it was like…. like I belonged there or something."

"At the sleepover?"

"Yeah. It was like the first time in a long time I felt like I belonged somewhere. ...I don't think I'd have had that much fun if Rachel wasn't there, though."

"Why's that?"

_Damn. For a minute there it really felt like I was talking to Jessica again. I forgot I'm actually here with Bailey. I thought we talked about Rachel before…_

"No reason."

"You can talk to me, Quinn."

"...Do you think there's anything that's unforgivable?"

_Why am I talking so much this session? Seriously, what's the matter with me? Did I really need to come to therapy this badly? It's like I can't stop running my mouth…_

"What do you mean, honey?"

"I mean…. I mean my parents. They're still… they're still trying to forgive me for getting pregnant. They'd never forgive me if…"

"...Is Rachel someone you have feelings for?"

"Anyway, I'm kind of stuck on whether I should accept Shelby's friend request. It sounds like a good idea because then I'd get to see every picture she posts of Beth, but then again that seems scary. Oh, and I've been journaling like you told me to. I journal almost every night before I go to sleep and sometimes in school when I get a free moment. And I —"

"Quinn," she leans across the desk and looks at me with the most gentle eyes. "Is Rachel someone you have feelings for?" I look down at the ground and still don't answer that. "You really ought to be more honest with yourself."

* * *

I feel a little better now. After therapy I was still a little pissed off and fired up from our argument, but I stopped at Wendy's and got three orders of French fries and a Frosty to dip them in. And I got rid of it all in the parking lot without the vomit even burning when it came up. And after the long drive back home, I feel a whole lot better and I'm ready to take on Mom again because I know for a fact she's going to want to talk about it.

So I park the car in the driveway, grab my Wendy's bag and get out. Mom's car is still here so I know she's inside. I take a deep breath, jog up the front steps, and go right inside.

But the house isn't quiet like I expected it to be. I don't smell lunch and hear some cheesy soap opera like All My Children playing on the living room TV.

Instead, I hear two voices. And only one of them belongs to Mom.

I don't know if I'm ready to face Dad just yet, even if he does offer me some sort of an apology. So I drag my feet until I get closer and closer. I just… don't know if I'm ready to face my dad…

So it's a good thing I don't have to.

Because my mom isn't sitting on the couch talking with my dad like I thought she'd be. She is sitting on the couch, yes. And they _are_ talking.

But imagine my surprise when I see Puck sitting there with her.


	13. Middle of a Memory

_October 8_

_It's very lonely to feel like you're the only person in the world who truly understands you. I'm sure almost everyone on this planet has felt this way at some point in their lives, but I'm almost certain that nobody's felt it quite as deeply as I am. I think maybe it's because even I don't fully understand myself._

_I keep on thinking about the time Franny stole the last Hostess cupcake from the pantry and ran outside and shut the patio door when I confronted her about it. She slammed my finger in the door so hard that even at just eight years old, I let the tears fall and called her the nastiest name I could think of. She ran and told Mom that I had dropped not only one but TWO F-bombs and Mom called me up to her office and asked me face to face if I had said anything of the sort. When I lied and said no, she automatically grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to my room and said she knew I was lying because she "knows me better than I know myself" and that really stuck with me._

_I used to believe it, too. All because she could look me in the eye and tell me when I was lying to her. I used to really, really believe that my mother knew me better than I knew myself._

_These days, I'm not so sure._

_I'm really trying to believe that her intentions were pure. I spent the last two and a half hours cleaning spaghetti sauce off the good china plates and convincing myself that she didn't mean any harm by telling him to come over. I left so abruptly and took the car keys and she was so nervous that she called the only person that she thought might know where I have gone. Puck. And she thought — I mean really really thought — that he and I were close._

_I guess I understand. I had to put away that childish fantasy of having a mother who knows me like the back of her own hand and once I did that, I realized that really, she knows nothing about me and nothing about where I'd go in a situation like that. So I guess I understand that she did the only logical thing to her. And that was to call the guy I had a baby with. Even though he was the worst possibility to call, she did it out of love._

_When I walked in and saw him, it almost felt like everything has happening all over again. It was like I was back in that bedroom and his lips were cold and slobbery and all over my neck and I could smell the strong scent of alcohol on my breath again. It made me feel like I wanted to throw up. Or better yet, turn back around and make a beeline for the door._

_But I didn't. I sat down and acted like I was happy to see him and even gave him a hug when he told me just how worried he and my mom were about me. And I choked down a portion of spaghetti and meatballs over dinner while listening to him tell my mom about how he saw Beth the other day and how she's starting to pull herself up on the furniture. I wanted to listen, I really did. I wanted to hear all about the amazing little human my perfect thing is shaping up to be. But I couldn't get past that feeling of slobbery wet lips on my neck and that smell of wine coolers. And I couldn't get past any of it until I was waving goodbye and shutting that door behind him._

_For a minute, I almost felt bad for Mom. Not for the argument we had earlier or anything like that, but for the fact that she just doesn't know. She doesn't know how hard it was for me to even fake a smile with him there. She doesn't know how many times I had to fight the urge to excuse myself to the bathroom so I could cry. She doesn't know that everytime I see Puck, I feel like he's on top of me, crushing me over and over and over again like he did the first time and I don't have enough fresh air to breathe. And I guess it just makes me feel bad because if it were Beth, I'd want to know. And if I didn't know, that would make me feel horrible for inviting him to stay for dinner. I wonder if I'll ever be able to tell Mom about the night I lost my virginity to him. I mean EVERYTHING about it..._

_Probably not._

_It's kind of weird because I thought in some ways that maybe I'd be madder at Mom for inviting him over than I actually am. I'm actually not mad at her at all. And there were moments tonight where I actually enjoyed Puck's company, which kind of scares me. And makes me feel stupid at the same time. And maybe just a little bit like a phony. And a disgrace to women everywhere._

_I don't know how to explain it. It's just that… on one hand… I do feel close to him. I mean every time I look at pictures of Beth, I see little bits and pieces of him and she's so perfect and I wouldn't change a single thing about her, so I guess that means I have to like him in some aspect, right? Because even the parts of her that are completely him, I love. So I have to like him at least a little bit. Right?_

_But then on the other hand, sometimes he makes me full of so much rage that I just… vibrate. And I want him to stay as far away from me as possible because I…. I guess I just…. don't feel al that safe around him. It's gotten to the point where I locate all exits when I'm around him and contemplate what I'd do to defend myself if he ever…. you know._

_But then it makes me feel stupid and like a liar again because it wasn't like that. It wasn't like… like how you see it in the movies. It was different. And not really… scary. So maybe I'm wrong and I'm stupid and I'm a liar and a disgrace to all women everywhere._

_Mom and I decided that we don't need to talk about it. The argument, I mean. We've both decided to let it go and after Puck left, I told her I went to therapy and she was just happy with that so we decided to leave it at that. No apologies, but no explanations either. She swore that she didn't tell Puck anything about me and my summer in Pennsylvania and my mom doesn't swear, so I believe her. Plus, Puck wasn't acting weird towards me at all. Anyway, I think that's all for now. Bailey would be proud of me for vomiting my words all over this paper. But speaking of vomit, I'm going to go get rid of the spaghetti and bread I ate tonight, then I'm going to bed._

_I think this is it._

_P.S._

_Maybe Puck's not a bad guy. Maybe he's just the bad guy in my story._

* * *

"There are periodic tables attached to the back of your tests. Remember to identify _all_ of the elements listed and _all _of their isotopes. Eyes on your own paper, guys. When you're done, put them in the tray on my desk and find something to do silently," Mrs. Odenthal does that real annoying thing where she claps her hands together after she's done speaking and sits down at her desk.

Everyone around the room flips their tests open and I know I probably should follow suit so I don't miserably fail this test, but I can't stop thinking about breakfast this morning. I can't focus long enough to even write my name on top.

I sat down at the breakfast table this morning, and I picked one that was kind of far away from everyone else and off in seclusion, partly so I could do some last minute cramming for this organic chem test, but mostly because they had my favorite cinnamon rolls for breakfast this morning and I knew if I ate one, there was no possible way I'd be able to stop. I'd be bouncing from table to table asking everyone if they could spare their cinnamon roll and then I'd do nothing but skip first period so I could sit in the bathroom and throw it all up. I'm trying to stop doing that. I mean really really trying. Sure I'm hungry and sure as I sit here staring at the pages of my test, my stomach is making more noise than fireworks on the Fourth of July. But still. Being hungry beats the hell out of eating 60 cinnamon rolls and looking like a gross hog in front of all the school.

Anyway, I sat down at an empty table this morning and at first, I was alone. At first, it was just me and my growling stomach sifting through the pages of my chemistry notes. But then, Mercedes came and sat next to me and started talking about her sleepover. And Tina came too. Then Brittany and Santana both followed and eventually, so did Rachel. And for the most part, I was just enjoying Rachel's company. For a while, I felt like a pervert though, because Rachel is wearing this really cute white tank top with tiny little navy blue sailboats on it and the jacket she draped over it wasn't buttoned up or anything, so I could see right down the front of her shirt every time she leaned forward and God, it was glorious. It made me feel disgusting and I guess a little bit shameful, but not shameful because I'm… gay or whatever. It kind of felt like I was objectifying her and I didn't mean to do that, but I did. And well, yeah. Maybe I did feel a little ashamed that I was looking at another _girl_ that way, but that's something that I'll save for my journal later.

The thing I can't stop thinking about in regard to breakfast isn't how I could see that Rachel's wearing a plain black bra and has a light brown freckle on her left boob. It's Brittany and Santana.

When I wasn't looking at Rachel, I was looking at them.

And really, I guess their relationship just fascinated me.

Brittany kept trying to open her milk from the wrong side and when it didn't open, Santana just quietly took her milk away and opened it the right way for her and handed it back. No commentary, no snide comments about how stupid Brittany is. And when Brittany sneezed all over the place, Santana handed her the only napkin she had left, then took it upon herself to fix Brittany's messy ponytail. Every time Santana opened her mouth to speak, Brittany made it seem like they were the only two in the room. Santana had all of her attention. Every single drop. And she made sure the rest of us knew it.

But what really got me is how they looked at each other before they got up.

The bell rang and Santana threw her tray and Brittany's away too. And she came back to the table and waited for Brittany to gather up all her books. And Brittany took Santana's hand to help her out of her seat and I swear, their hands lingered. Their fingers were all interlocked and they walked out of the cafeteria like that. The only time they let each other go is when they had to go their separate ways to get to class.

The real kicker is how nobody even said anything to them. Nobody even stared or batted an eyelash. There's something about Brittany and Santana that everyone just kind of accepts as best friends and it's not questioned. I think they could probably kiss in the middle of the hallway and everyone would just say "aww." Yet… they don't. They could easily kiss in the hallway and only receive maybe one or two dirty looks but they don't. They still only look at each other with heart eyes in private and touch each other in the sensual way when they're not around everyone else.

The weirdest part about it all is that I get it. Even though there's probably nothing for Santana or Brittany to be ashamed about, that shame is still there. And it's crippling. And it must be exhausting. And I think I'm starting to understand exactly where Santana comes from, and why she is the way that she is.

I think it's pretty safe to say that Santana and Brittany are dating. They're definitely not just friends. And even though their relationship is secret, I keep finding myself wishing that I had what they have. With Rachel. Because I guess a secret relationship is better than no relationship at all.

Sometimes I think that maybe I should tell Santana how I'm feeling. I know that she'd get it. She'd probably deny it at first — just like me — but eventually she'd let me in and admit that the way she feels about Brittany is just as "unnatural" as the way I feel about Rachel. And when she finally does admit it, I think that maybe I should ask her how she coped with it when she finally realized what she is. I guess I just want to know how she deals with the shame and the fear. I just want to know how she doesn't completely hate herself for it.

_Or maybe I'm completely wrong. Maybe Santana hasn't accepted it yet and maybe she never will. Maybe she'll spend the rest of her life in deep denial or just not knowing. Maybe me too. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life alone too. Back when I was pregnant with Beth, I used to think about marrying Puck sometimes. I don't know if I used to picture marrying him because I actually like him or if I just wanted a way to rationalize what we did with God and think marriage would make it okay. When I used to picture marrying him, it wasn't completely horrible. It even felt like maybe I could be happy if I married him, as long as I had Beth. That didn't scare me. But the thought of living like this forever and never really accepting myself?_

_That's terrifying._

When I look back down at my test and try to refocus my brain after spending God knows how long just staring into space and thinking about Santana and Brittany's confusing yet enviable relationship, I notice that I was absentmindedly doodling.

_God, Quinn. Pull yourself together._

I quickly shield my paper from the eyes of anyone who could possibly see, then frantically rub my eraser across the once empty margins that are now filled with various forms of "Rachel" and hearts. Thank God I can erase this. Thank God I didn't draw this in too dark. Thank God nobody will ever know that I doodle her name from time to time like a stupid little schoolgirl.

I break off the piece of lead that is now tainted from writing her name so many times, then pump new lead into the chamber.

And on top, I write:

**Quinn Fabray**

**Period 1**

**October 9th**

And finally start my test.

* * *

_October 9th_

_It's times like this when I wish I saw Bailey. Sometimes I feel fake when I talk to her because she asks me how everything's going and I tell her "fine." And it's not like I'm trying to lie to her because I'm not. I'm really not trying to lie when I say that everything is fine. It really is fine at that moment when she asks._

_I wish she could see me during the time when everything's not fine._

_Times like this when all I want to do is curl up in a ball and just cry until no more tears will come out. Times like this when all I want to do is write down how I'm feeling so it's no longer inside of me._

_I swore to myself that I wasn't going to throw up today. I swore that I would do my best and try my hardest not to. But they had pizza for lunch and I was so hungry from not eating any breakfast that I ate two whole slices and an entire container of mandarin oranges. And I tried to keep them down. I did. But I just felt so gross and so fat and I had to get rid of it._

_For the first time ever, I felt guilty after throwing up. Because I just know that I let myself down. I can't keep a promise to anyone. Not even myself._

_Part of me wants to tell Bailey that this is an issue again. I don't know if Mom told her anything about my eighth grade year and the reason why we don't have scales in the house anymore. But I'm starting to feel like maybe Bailey should know. Maybe she should know that anxiety, depression and PTSD aren't the only things she should be treating me for._

_It just feels like every time I take five steps forward, I take ten steps back._

_It's starting to get out of my control again. I used to think that it wasn't a problem because I was all fixed from the last time I worked on this issue. I used to think that I could just stop whenever I wanted to since I remembered all the things from last time._

_But now… I'm not so sure._

**X X X**

I thought about going home so I could just take a good nap instead of coming to Glee today. It sounded really good. Mom let me take the car today so I could just drop my books off in my locker and just go straight home and climb right into bed. But I saw Mercedes and Tina in the hallway and they asked me if I was coming and I caved.

So now I'm sitting in the back of the choir room, mostly regretting my decision to come because Rachel took off her jacket so now she's just in that tank top only it's not a good thing because I'm behind her and can't see.

I'm really not in the mood to be here. And especially not in the mood for Puck, who wanders in like a jackass and sits right beside me. My stomach starts to churn...

"How come you didn't text me back after I left last night?" He asks. His voice is like nails on a chalkboard to me.

"I fell asleep." I don't even make eye contact with him.

"Oh, well. You coming to my homecoming party on Friday?" I ignore him, but he doesn't stop. "It's a costume party. So feel free to dress like a slut."

"You are the most —"

"Okay, guys!" Mr. Shue closes the door behind himself and stands in front of us. Good thing, too. Because I was about to give Puck a very large piece of my mind. "So. In preparation for sectionals…. I've noticed when I walked in that since I gave you the task of spending more time together outside of Glee, you've become closer. Yes? Mercedes said her sleepover was a success."

"Total success," Mercedes nods.

"Total. Quinn put on some old Britney tunes and we totally had a big jam sesh and I hit notes I didn't even know I could hit. It was like, magical," Rachel gushes, which makes me laugh. She's so cute when she gushes…

"I'm glad to hear that," Mr. Shue says and starts pacing which is never a good sign. "See? You guys are already more cohesive. So I've decided to keep that going. This time, more intimately."

The boys all start to giggle because of course, you can't say "intimacy" in front of them without their immature asses thinking it means sex.

Mr. Schue just shakes his head and continues. "Not that kind of intimacy, guys. I'm promoting nothing of the sort. Your assignment for this week is to work with a partner. I'm going to pair you guys up and you're going to pick a song to perform that showcases _both _of your vocal abilities. I'll pair you up based off who I think needs to learn to work better with one another. Starting with Finn," he looks directly at Finn who kinda just turns to stone. "You and Puck are still a bit shaky. I want you and him to work together."

I put my head down and sigh because I know for a fact that he's going to put me with Santana. She and I bickered like cats and dogs at Friday's Glee Club meeting and I know he remembers it. I can feel Puck's eyes on me. I know I'm nervous with him looking at me because I grab onto my cross necklace. And start messing with it.

_I guess working with Santana could be a good thing, though. Maybe I could pick her brain about all the… shame…_

"_Why do you think that's the worst thing you could be, Quinn?" Jessica asks. "You could be a rapist… child molester… murderer… but gay. Why is that the worst thing you could be?"_

"_It's not," I mumble and wipe my tears away. "It's just that… they already hate me. You know? For getting pregnant. My parents already hate me. So it's like…. if I'm gay…. they'll never forgive me… ever…."_

"_Your parents don't hate you."_

"_They do… they hate me. And I'm pretty sure God hates me… so… what's the use?"_

"Sam…. you and Santana will work together," Mr. Schue's voice is loud and for once, I'm grateful. Because my thoughts are a very scary place to be right now.

_God hates me… why am I still wearing his cross? He hates me. I had a baby out of wedlock, I'm homosexual… I have sinful thoughts about the same sex…_

"Rachel!" Mr. Schue says her name next. "I wanna see you work with…"

_You're no child of God. You're a vile sinner and he hates you. Your faith is useless, useless Quinn. He hates you._

I roll the cross charm between my two fingers, then tug at it.

_But so what? I'm gay… if God doesn't love me for it…. I guess I don't care…._

Just as I pull my cross so hard that the snap breaks and the necklace falls off into my hand…

"Quinn," Mr. Schue says.


	14. Alone Together

_October 10_

_I'm starting to think that the universe is playing some kind of trick on me. I admit that these past few months, my faith has been a little bit fragile. Maybe even longer than that. Hell, there are some times where I'm not even sure if I believe in God anymore. But this afternoon, something happened and I think my mind is changed. It really could be nothing but a cruel twist of fate, but I find it rather hard to believe it's a coincidence. Because Mr. Shue said that my partner would be Rachel just as I ripped my cross off. Even writing it seems like it's a scene ripped straight out of a bad 90s RomCom. _ _Mr. Schue said Rachel is my partner just as I ripped my cross off. _ _I can't make this crap up._

_I guess in a way, it feels like He's testing me. Like He's partnering me up with Rachel just to see if I will break. And I hate to break it to you God, but I just might._

_How am I supposed to last a week with her? The thought already makes my stomach churn and tie into knots. I can't decide if whether what I feel is excitement or pure terror. These days, they both kind of spark the same feeling inside of me and it's hard to tell which is which. But ever since I heard Mr. Schue say her name, it's like my world stopped and I didn't know that time was still a thing. When I pulled into the driveway and saw that it was only 3:15 I had to rummage through my purse to find my cell phone too, because something_

_inside my brain didn't quite believe it was still that early. In hindsight I know now that it felt so early only because Mr. Schue let us out at 3 so we could work on our assignments, when he usually keeps us until 3:45, but still. My point is that my concept of time is virtually nonexistent and I swear that only happened because of Rachel._

_I also kind of feel like I have to pee and I've felt that way ever since I walked out of the choir room and told Rachel we could start tomorrow when she asked me when I wanted to get together. She used those exact words, too. "Get together", she said. And when I say that I thought someone turned the heat up to a thousand degrees, I mean that. I had to stop myself from saying "last month would have been nice" when she asked me when I wanted to get together and that's the truth. She said the words "get together" and I felt all the liquid in my body rush to my crotch and I've had to pee ever since. (To be honest I'm a little scared that I'll pee my pants, which may or may not be the reason I'm sitting in the driveway writing this)_

_Dear God, I hate to bother you but I really hope you bless me with enough strength to make it through this assignment with her._

_One of the things my old therapist taught me was that I should try to identify the feelings I'm having towards her, and try to tell whether they or positive or negative. _

_I know that the feelings I have towards her are positive feelings, but that doesn't mean I want to feel them. These feelings make me feel exposed. Like my back is to the wall of a closet and I can feel the monster's presence lurking up behind me but I'm too afraid to turn around. Or like I went into a bathroom stall, only to find out there's no lock and anyone could walk in on me. That kind of vulnerable. That kind of exposed. Which is confusing to me because how can love make a person feel like that? I love Rachel, I do. But how does a feeling like love — a feeling that's supposed to be a good feeling — make you feel so raw?_

_Just because they're good feelings doesn't mean I want to feel them. I know they're impure thoughts and you really don't like people like me, but I'm trying. I'm really trying and really struggling and so I would appreciate it if maybe you could put aside all my sins this week. Put aside the homosexuality, the fornication, my bastard child. And all those times I've doubted you, please. And just help me get through this week. I've even tried to think about all the things I dislike about her, but that doesn't work for me anymore. I'm desperate and need any help I can get._

_Thank you, God._

I don't really want to write anything else for the rest of the day. I think I just need some time alone with my thoughts so they can sit in my mind and marinate. Kind of like how when you're taking a math test and you don't know the answer to one of the questions, so you skip it. And then after you finish everything else on the test, you come back to it with fresher eyes and you can make better sense of it and you can solve it? Well, my mind isn't exactly a math problem that I can step away from, but it's starting to feel every bit as confusing as a math problem, so maybe this will help. I don't think anybody understands how exhausting it is to constantly feel like you don't belong inside of your own head…

Anyway, I don't want to write anything else tonight because I want to step away from my thoughts, so I stuff my notebook into the glove compartment on the passenger's side, gather up my backpack and my purse, and head inside. It's still pretty early compared to how late I usually get home from Glee Club, so I bet Mom doesn't have dinner finished yet. Which is okay, I guess. I'm not really all that hungry anyway.

When I get to the front door, I fish my keys out of my purse and try to shove the one with a purple "Q" on it into the lock, but it won't go inside. A couple years back when I was still in middle school, I used to get my keys stuck in the locks because I would turn them too many times, so Dad put these fancy locks on our doors and now they won't even accept a key unless the door is unlocked. If you try to push a key inside while the door is unlocked, it's like trying to jam a nail into a brick wall; completely useless. So when my key doesn't even go inside the lock, I'm kind of nervous.

Mom always locks the doors. It's not like she doesn't have a reason not to, especially when there are some parts of Lima where you can't even leave your car doors unlocked while you run into the gas station to pay for your gas. But we live in the decent part of Lima, the part where you can leave your car keys in the ignition for the entire night and still come out to your car sitting in the driveway because chances are, everyone in the neighborhood has a car that's ten times better than yours anyway. Dad always used to think her compulsive need to lock the doors at all times was a little bit ridiculous, mostly because he would just be angry when all he did was run out to grab the mail. But I guess I'm like my mom in more ways than one because I kind of think locking the door like that makes me feel safe.

If Bailey could read my mind right now, she'd give me some big long explanation as to why I prefer to have doors locked and what it means to my psyche. She'd probably say something like "you needing to have doors locked represents your need to feel safe and secure after you've gone through something so traumatic." But Bailey's not here and my thoughts are purely my own and I'm thankful for that, at least.

Anyway, the door swings right open when I turn the knob, so I just walk right inside. And I know my mother is home, because her shoes are resting right beside the fireplace, the news is playing in the good living room and there are grocery bags still scattered all over the kitchen. She must have just gotten back, because the only thing that's worse than my mother's constant need to have the doors locked is her inability to keep the kitchen a mess for longer than fifteen seconds at a time.

"Mom…?" I call out as I ditch my shoes and backpack on the welcome mat in front of the door. "I'm home early."

I'm sure she probably heard my car pull into the driveway as she always does, but I still want to let her know, just in case she's upstairs changing or sitting on the toilet or something and realizes she forgot to lock the door and has a heart attack at the thought of an intruder. I know that sounds melodramatic, but I'd be lying if I said that's never happened before.

I head to the kitchen and grab my favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink, and push the button on the fridge to empty some water into it. "Mom!" I yell a little louder this time because with no response, I don't think she heard me.

A few sips and I put my water on the counter so I can empty out these grocery bags. I don't usually do this — mostly because Mom always has the bags emptied out before I even know she ran to the store — but I'm doing it now because I'm genuinely curious as to what she bought and what she has in mind for dinner.

_Cranberry juice, iced tea, a six-pack of Canada Dry. Must be for me. She knows how much I love ginger ale._

I hear the floorboards creak above my head, so I know she's upstairs moving around. I just keep unloading the bags for her. She'll put everything away when she gets down here.

_Hmm, ground beef, tomatoes, onion, fresh parsley, basil, a color of garlic, spaghetti noodles… must be making spaghetti. With the homemade sauce. Not the crap that comes in the can. I wonder what the occasion is. She never makes her homemade sauce anymore._

She must have been in the laundry room or something. It's really hard to hear in there when the dryer's going. Our dryer's about five thousand years old so it makes a lot of noise.

"You don't have to worry about me for dinner tonight, okay?" I yell towards the steps and go for one of the store-bought brownies with the fudge frosting because I'm hungrier than I realized. "I have to leave back out in a little while to do this thing for school, so I'll just eat on the go. Okay?!"

Silence. No response.

"...Mom…?"

I know she's here, because I just heard movement and the floorboards creaking. And her shoes are right over there and the TV's on and these groceries are just sitting here waiting to be put away and Mom never leaves the groceries out like that.

I head over to the window by the dishwasher and pull back the blinds.

_Her car's in the garage. She's definitely here._

"Mooooom?" I tiptoe over to the steps and hold my breath so I can hear over the sound of my breathing. I hear a little bit of life upstairs. Like something's creaking or rustling. Maybe it's the dryer, she did say she was going to wash the sheets on our beds today. But maybe it's not…. "...Mommy?"

Still no response from her, so I go to plan B. Which… I didn't even realize existed until I realized that plan A is to stand at the bottom of the steps and call to her like an idiot in a horror movie.

Plan B takes me back to the kitchen and into the drawer where we keep all our carving knives. I pick up the biggest and sharpest one and tiptoe back to the steps.

_She could be lying on the floor dead. Maybe she had a heart attack or something and she's upstairs on the floor dead._

To that thought, I just grab my cell phone from my back pocket and dial 9-1-1, but I don't press the call button. I just want to have it ready. Just in case.

My hand sweats so badly around the handle of the knife, but I just grip it even tighter so that I have a good hold on it just in case I have to drive it into somebody. It's not until I tiptoe my way all the way up the steps that I realize I wasn't breathing.

_This is probably nothing. She's probably in the bathroom. After she got home from the store, she realized she needed to use the bathroom and she holed herself up in there. It was an emergency, which is why everything is left scattered around the downstairs._

Yeah, but she would have at least answered me. She would have at least said "I'll be down in a second, Quinnie!" or something like that. She wouldn't have just said nothing if it wasn't serious…

On my end of the hallway, I hear more rustling and creaking, which is how I know it's not coming from the laundry room because the laundry room is on the other side of the hall. It's clear across the other end, right across the hall from Frannie's old bedroom.

"Mom," my voice only comes out in a whisper and I don't think it would get any louder even if it could. It's barely making it out of my throat.

I inch my way further and further down the hallway and the closer I get, the more sure I am that the creaking and rustling is coming from my mother's bedroom.

_What if she's maimed and can't speak? What if someone came in here and hurt her so badly that she can't even speak and tell me? Or what if she collapsed? And she's trying to get to me so I can hear her call out?_

I don't know what's going on, but I don't think I'll ever be fully prepared for whatever's going on, so I just… rest my hand on the door and take a few breaths.

I know the light is on, because it's spilling out from underneath the door and into the hallway. I see shadows moving across the light. And the sounds of her TV playing, I think. Because I hear a man's voice that kind of sounds like the guy who hosts The Price Is Right. The door isn't closed all the way, just cracked. A little push would open it all the way. And I hear…. I think I hear…

I press my ear to the door, knife clenched tight in my hand that's a fist. And hold my breath again so I can have a listen.

_Is that… is that…_

It's like a wave of electricity runs through my body and up to the hand that's against the door. Without even so much as a second thought, I push the door open — not a lot, but enough for me to see inside — and clench my teeth so tight that I give myself a headache when my eyes confirm what my ears had heard.

I don't even care about being quiet anymore and I don't even care if they know that I know and that I saw.

The knife leaves my hand and clatters to the floor when I drop it, and my footsteps are heavy and loud as I run back up the hallway and down all fourteen steps. My eyes sting and burn as I stomp back into my shoes, and the tears that roll down my cheeks tickle my chin when I run back out to my car.

The front door to my house slams so hard that the walls should shake…

And I know that they'll know I saw them.

* * *

"I-I'm… I'm sorry I don't have any, like… snacks or anything, I just… wasn't expecting you to be here," she says as she puts the bowl of barbecue chips on the bed between us. "I thought we agreed to meet at The Lima Bean and I just —"

"Change of plans," I mumble and stretch my legs out for the first time since I sat down nearly ten minutes ago. She's probably looking at me like I'm a crazy person and I kind of feel like I am one, a little.

I just showed up at her house with itchy, red, I-just-got-done-crying-eyes, and followed her upstairs just to sit on her bed with my knees pulled into my chest, staring off into space while she scrambles around downstairs and tries to prepare for an unexpected guest. If I were her, I'd look at me like I'm a crazy person, too.

After my little "change of plans" one-liner, silence falls between both of us again, and I know it's awkward but I really don't know how to break it. I know she wants to ask me what's wrong, because anyone with eyes can tell that I just cried so hard on the way over here that I could have wrecked my car. But I just don't know what to say. I'm not in the right frame of mind to be around her right now. I'm not in the right frame of mind to be around _anyone_. But I just really don't want to be alone…

_Did you see the way she just….looked at him? And the way she kissed him? And the way it seemed so…. natural?_

_They weren't expecting me home so soon. She knew I wouldn't be home for a while because I had glee… so she knew…. she knew and she…. had him come over…._

_Is that what they do? Does he come over every time I'm at school? And they just go upstairs and have sex like the happy couple they used to be…? Even though she promised she wouldn't… even see him…. for me…_

_After everything he said to me… after everything he did…_

_He threw me on the street like…. like I never mattered to him. Like I wasn't even his daughter. Like… like I was nothing. He threw me out… left me homeless… slammed the door in my face when I was seven months pregnant and came home to ask if I could have money for medicine because I was so sick I could barely walk…_

_And she lies down… and has sex with him…. probably every day that I'm not there…_

"Have you thought of a song suggestion yet?" her eyes never leave the floor when she asks me, and I get the general impression that she's more nervous to be around me than anything. Normally I'd care about that. Normally I'd be trying anything to make her a little more comfortable. But I just…

"No," I mumble. "I haven't thought about it."

"Oh," she traces her fingers along the quilted pattern of her bedspread. "...Well are you going to the Halloween party after homecoming?"

"Probably not," I admit and really, I haven't thought about that either. But I know for sure that I won't go.

"Why not?" She tucks a lock of that beautiful brown hair behind her ear and finally looks at me. Something about her eyes makes everything melt away. I feel at ease when she looks at me. Like everything that's going on in my shitty, messed up personal life is minor compared to whatever is going on in this moment. I like this feeling. I hope she never stops looking at me.

"Last time I was somewhere with alcohol, I wound up pregnant," dry sarcasm is laced all in my tone and stupid, stupid me. She just looks back down at the floor again and I know that I've officially ruined the moment. Stupid, stupid me.

"Can I ask you a personal question, Quinn?" she asks.

"It doesn't matter if I say yes or no, you're gonna ask me anyway," I rest against her headboard and look around her room. It kind of looks like a preschooler who's seen one too many reruns of Full House threw up all over the place. But it has that Rachel-esque eccentricity to it and I'm not at all disappointed. It's exactly the way I thought her room would look. "Shoot."

"...Do you ever…," she starts and her voice gets lower and lower with every word. "Do you ever think about her? About… Beth?"

_Not what I was expecting her to ask. How the hell do I answer that? How the hell do I tell her that I do, every second of every day and even on the days where I try not to think of her because it makes me sad, she still consumes my every thought process?_

_And how come I knew she was going to be __that_ _invasive with the question?_

"I-I-I just mean…" _there she goes with that explanation. Rachel can never just ask a question and leave it at that. She always explains herself. Always. _"I met her. My birth mom. I met her and I just keep thinking that I… I just don't know if she ever thought about me. And loved me. Or regretted her decision. And I… I guess I was just hoping you could enlighten me a little bit on what goes into thinking like that… I know if it were me and I loved something, I could never let it go. If I loved something that much, I'd want it close to me at all costs."

"You will never understand it until it happens to you." The way that comes out of my mouth has so much matter-of-factness to it that I disgust myself. I didn't mean to be so brashly blunt with the way I said it, but that's just the way it is.

_Stop being so mean…. open up to her a little… she's just looking for answers here, Quinn. Cut the attitude._

"The only way I could…. reconcile giving her up is just by knowing that I loved her more than I loved myself," I say. And she nods. And my eyes sting all over again. _I can't believe I'm talking about this. _"I mean yeah, I'd be happy as hell if I kept her. I could do it. Come home after glee club and… make a bottle and play with her… give her a bath… kiss her and… put her to bed…." I wipe away a pesky tear with my hand before she can notice that it fell. "But Beth wouldn't be happy with that, you know? She wouldn't be happy with a stupid mom that put her in daycare every day just so she could finish freaking high school…"

She doesn't even look at me when she hands me a tissue and I think that makes me love her even more than I already did. Because she doesn't make a big deal of my tears.

"...Sometimes it's just confusing because she loves Beth so much and I just wonder if… if she loves Beth enough to raise her and stuff, why didn't she love me? And raise me?"

"Don't think like that. Okay? Don't you dare think like that. The situations are very different and it'll just kill you to think like that."

She nods once and I can tell that's the end of that part of the conversation. "...Does it hurt sometimes?" she continues. "Knowing that you can't see her the way you'd like?"

"It does."

Admitting that to her is like admitting it to myself. Sometimes, it hurts so much that I just feel like…. like maybe if I don't think about it and don't acknowledge how badly it hurts that the pain will just go away.

And other times, I think that it'll never stop hurting. And I think that I'll be this way for the rest of my life. Just stuck in an endless, vicious cycle of pain and heartache.

Rachel gets off her bed and goes over to her jewelry box, but my mind is still reeling from the conversation. That's really the first time I've ever spoken about Beth so openly and honestly. I thought maybe it would feel liberating to do that because it's kind of taboo to talk about around my house, still. I thought getting it all off my chest and addressing those feelings would make everything feel easier. But it doesn't. Everything still sucks… everything still hurts. And maybe nothing will ever make sense anymore...

"I want you to have this," Rachel says as she holds out whatever it is that she produced from her jewelry box.

Without too much focus, I just take it from her hand and I have to blink a few times to get my eyes to stop being blurry so I can see it clearly.

"I took it a few nights ago whenever I snuck over Shelby's apartment," she whispers. "...She's a really amazing baby, Quinn."

I have to fight off a fresh round of tears as I stare at the Polaroid she just handed me. In it, my lil baby girl is standing with her little chubby hands on the coffee table and her smile is just as wide as can be. She boasts two tiny top teeth and two tiny bottom teeth and her smile is so honest that her eyes are completely closed. Those little blonde curls look so silky and the way her little diaper butt hangs out the bottom of the yellow and pink dress she's wearing is really killing me.

Just when I think I'm about to get off the bed and leave, something else comes over me and I do something I totally don't expect from myself.

I blink back the tears and just say "Thank you, Rachel."

And I still think I'm going to cry and disintegrate into a pile of salty, murky tears. So I just stuff the picture into my pocket, clear my throat and say "...We should do something by Madonna because that always goes over well. "Maybe Open Your Heart?" That's never been done."

To my surprise, Rachel doesn't dwell and try to get me to throw my feelings up all over the place anymore. She just crosses her legs and faces me and dives all in the conversation and I didn't realize just how much I needed her to have a non-reaction until now. God, that just made it so much easier to move on from Beth. I can't talk about her anymore. That's enough for one night.

"I wouldn't mind singing "Open Your Heart", but I feel like maybe we should do something more… personal. And meaningful. To ourselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Quinn, music should be therapeutic. Think of it as one time to let all the members of glee club get inside your head. We get one opportunity to tell them something. One opportunity to tell them how we really feel. Should we waste it on a Madonna song, just because it'll go over well?"

I sit back against the headboard again and really think this time. I never thought of music like that…

She starts scrolling through the playlist on her phone to think of more songs we could sing, but I'm still a little stuck.

_It should be therapeutic..._

"...Rachel, I'll go to the Halloween party after homecoming if you go."

"Why?"

_Oh crap. I slipped up. I got too comfortable and a little too much slipped out and now…_

_Damage control, damage control, damage control…._

_Think. Think. Think._

"Because I don't want to be the only friendless loser there."

Rachel cracks a smile and tosses a furry pink pillow at me. "You've got a deal."

_Whew. That was close. She almost figured out that I've got a big fat lesbian crush on her._

"Now keep looking for songs!" she's back to business all over again and I'm glad, but it's not necessary. I've got the perfect song in mind already.

_Because music should be therapeutic… and I should say something I want everyone to know about me…_

I quickly type the song into Google on my phone to pull up the lyrics, then nudge Rachel and show her the phone.

She takes one look at the song, grins, then says:

"It's perfect."


	15. Over You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for this chapter. There’s a little bit of language here that describes rape. Please use discretion when reading.

* * *

* * *

  
When the bell rings to let me out of Spanish class, I gather my binder, my notebook and my workbook and stand up. The day’s moving in somewhat of a blur, and there’s a part of me that wishes it would slow down a bit because I’m not all that excited about making it to Glee club today. I need all the time in the world to prepare and today is flying by, and I wish I could just bottle time up and freeze it for a little; just until I get my head on straight about what I have to do today.

I haven’t been this nervous since I was lying flat on my back, feet inside plastic stirrups, with everyone looking down at me all spread eagle and exposed. I had only been in the hospital for about an hour and even though I asked every nurse that came in to check on me what I should expect, nobody would give me a straight answer.

It happened so fast, I remember. One minute my mom was wheeling me through the double doors and telling me that I wasn’t breathing the right way and then the next I was out of my dress and into a hospital gown and there were wires and bracelets and needles all over my arms. It didn’t happen slowly like you see in the movies, and it didn’t happen all intimately, either. There was no slow, pivotal music playing and there was no big moment where all I felt was bravery wash over me because the excitement of meeting her was far too great to be scared. It wasn’t like that at all. It was terrifying from the moment the nurse took me in and told me to undress until the moment the doctor pulled her out of me and laid her on my chest.

I haven’t felt this scared and nervous since then.

I have another two periods to go before I have to walk into Glee club and sing with Rachel, but I don’t foresee getting any calmer about this. I know all the lyrics and I memorized all the places where I’m going to try and do some vocal runs, but the idea still makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide. I don’t doubt our song choice, and I’m not second guessing making her sing most of it, because her voice is angelic. There’s not much in this world that Rachel can’t sing and sound amazing doing it, but I think the song we chose is especially special. She has a way of making it sound completely raw and vulnerable and it’s something that can’t be taught. She’s going to bring the entire house down with her performance and I’m happy to just sing the “oohs” and “ahhs” in the background.

But Mr. Shue said that we both have to sing 50/50 in order to get credit for the assignment, and that makes my stomach want to fall out of my butt. Rachel is amazing and I don’t know how I’m ever going to keep up.

A few paces away from my study hall classroom, I stop at my locker to drop off my Spanish books. I know I must be pretty out of it today, because I hardly notice when Mercedes walks up beside me. And I hardly hear her when she says, “Hey, Quinn.”

“Hey.”

“I missed you in lunch today. Everything alright?” she asks.

_ If by “alright” you mean hiding in the bathroom and going over song lyrics until my tongue dried out because I don’t want to look like a total fool next to her today by forgetting the lyrics then yeah, I’m alright. Pretty darn good. _

“Yeah, I was just doing some studying. I had a Spanish quiz that I forgot all about, so I had to just look over a few things.”

“No, I get it. I just missed you. I had something I wanted to ask you.”

“Hmm?” I mumblegrunt.

“You’re coming to Glee club today, right? You and Rachel still performing?”

_ As if I needed a reminder. Thank you, Mercedes. _

“Yeah, that’s still the plan,” I yank my statistics book from the top shelf and slam my locker closed. “Why?”

“Well I was just wondering what you were doing afterwards. Me and Sam are going down to Century Square. We’re gonna catch that new movie about the zombie slayer who falls in love with the vampire. Sam said he read the books as a kid and he wants to see it. It sounds pretty dumb, but yanno. You’re welcome to come with.”

_ I don’t really want to. In all honesty, I want to go home after Glee club today and I want to go straight to my room and put on my pajamas. I want to ignore my mother when she tries to apologize to me with a big elaborate platter of roast beef and mashed potatoes. I want to shut my bedroom door in her face when she tries to explain to me that what I saw yesterday wasn’t her having sex with my father. I want to lock the door with a bag of nacho cheese Doritos, a package of golden Oreos, an entire case of ginger ale and three bowls full of Ramen noodles. And I want to eat until my stomach hurts and I feel sick. I want to get rid of everything I ate, and I want to go to bed by 7:30 so I can be asleep by 8:30. _

“That’s okay,” I start. “You and Sam can —“

“Quinn, come on. Please. We can get a large popcorn and stuff our faces with way overpriced candy and giant Dr. Peppers that make our noses burn when we drink too fast. It’ll be like old times, like when we used to go when you were pregnant.” She pleads with me.

_ How will it be like old times if Sam is going to be there? Old times would just be me and you… _

“Mercedes, I…” _ On the other hand… at least I won’t have to deal with Mom today...if I go… _“...What time should I meet you?”

“Sweet! Okay, so I’ll pick you up. My mom’s gonna let me have the car tonight so it’ll just be easier if I swing by and grab you. The movie starts at 7:45, so be ready by at least 6:30 so we don’t miss the previews.”

“Okay,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.

The bell rings again so we both rush off in different directions and I’m kind of glad that the conversation is over. In all honesty, I haven’t been feeling the greatest since I caught Mom and Dad yesterday. I mean sure, hanging out with Rachel for a little while and figuring out our song for Glee club today did take my mind off it a bit. And I was able to kill enough time just slumming it and practicing at Rachel’s to be able to avoid Mom. And I guess I’m a little grateful for the fact that I’ll be out of the house all evening again. But I really just want to be alone today and there’s a small part of me that wishes I’d have told Mercedes no.

When I get to study hall, I hang my backpack on the back of my chair and sit down to get a head start on the Stats homework that Mr. Tolber assigned earlier. All day, I planned on using study hall as a chance to wrap my head around the fact that I have to perform with her, but I think I really just need to distract myself until it’s actually time. If I think about it too much, I think I might chicken out. But when I can’t focus on my homework and the math problems all look like jumbled up word soup to me, I reach into my bag and fish out the cherry red notebook instead.

_October 11_

_ I only did it twice today. _

_ I know that by most logic, twice is still really bad and the only thing that’s considered good is not doing it at all. But I only did it twice today and I feel like that’s real progress for me because I usually do it about five times a day, sometimes more. I battled my mind and won today. It consumed my every thought. I went downstairs this morning after getting dressed and Mom’s been trying to make it up to me since yesterday, so even though she was already gone when I came downstairs, she left a platter of bagels and cream cheese on the kitchen Island. I took three bites of the bagel before throwing it away and I really tried to keep it down, I really really really did. But when I got to school, it felt so heavy and shameful in my stomach that I just parked my car and threw up right in the parking lot. _

_ My head hurt a little more after that, so I went inside and convinced myself that I could have just two pieces of breakfast sausage. Tina and Mercedes were eating it at the breakfast table and school sausage used to be my favorite thing ever, so I ate it. I ate two pieces. And again, I swear I tried to keep it down. I really did. But as I was walking to English class, I could feel it in my stomach. It shifted with every step I took and I could just physically feel the pounds adding up. So I excused myself to the bathroom and got rid of that, too. _

_ At lunch, they had those mashed potato bowls that I love so much. And by then, my stomach was really rumbling and I was starting to get another headache, so I got in line and ate that. I know I let myself down by indulging the way I did, when I could have opted for a salad or some carrot sticks, but it just smelled so… good. The mashed potatoes and the little popcorn chicken nuggets on top. I got extra sweet corn on top and almost drooled when I saw the cafeteria lady piling on the gravy. I ate it slow. I savored every bite. _

_ And just as I was washing it down with an ice cold bottle of Gatorade from the vending machine and preparing to go to the bathroom and rid myself of it, I remembered that I have to sing in Glee club today. _

_ I practiced all night last night once I got home from Rachel’s and I knew then that I didn’t want to sound hoarse for our performance today. I almost gave in anyway because I’m not the best singer in Glee club and I never will be, whether I’m hoarse from throwing up or not. But then I thought about how if I am horse today… I’ll mess up Rachel’s performance and I don’t know why, but the idea of letting her down makes me even sicker than the idea of gaining a few pounds. _

_ So I kept everything from lunch down. _

_ And I think that’s a real step towards progress for me. _

_ It’s getting easier for me to talk about her, by the way. I mean I still can’t say her name out loud without feeling weird, but I’ve noticed that I can think her name with very minimal reaction these days and writing about her feels good. _

_ I had a dream about her last night. After I got home, I was riding some kind of wave and it continued on into my sleep. I dreamt that she and I were laying on a rooftop in the middle of March and it was cold outside, but neither one of us cared because we had a blanket that we shared and a _

“Quinn?” Mrs. Bartelle calls my name from across the room, where she sits at her desk. She calls me just as she’s hanging up the phone. I put my pencil down and look up. “You’re wanted downstairs in the all purpose room.”

* * *

* * *

I forgot that I start therapy with Bailey in school today.

Matter of fact, I kind of forgot that we had a session a couple days ago after Mercedes’ sleepover. Everything’s just become a big massive blur to me after seeing Mom on top of Dad like that.

I thought I was in trouble when Mrs. Bartelle told me that I needed to go to the all purpose room, and I was sweating bullets the whole walk down here. I was sweating so bad that my feet started to slip out of my white wedges and I thought I was going to break my neck. I held onto the wall the whole way down. It wasn’t until I got to the door and peeked in through the tiny window and saw Bailey that I remembered I had even agreed to see her in school.

“You look nice today,” she says as she pulls her glasses onto her face. “I really love that dress.”

_ You’re only saying that because the last time you saw me I had pajamas on and my hair was up in the laziest and messiest bun known to man. _

“Thanks,” I mumble back as I smooth out the wrinkles in my dress. It’s dark, navy blue with little white flowers all over it. It’s a spaghetti-strapped dress — one that would for sure get me in trouble for violating the dress code — so I put a dark brown cardigan over it and threw on a pair of brown boots. “I have a performance in Glee club today. I wanted to look decent.”

“A performance? That sounds cool. What are you gonna sing? Or dance to?”

“It’s um, it’s stupid, actually. My Glee teacher is super convinced that we need to mesh better as a group in order to win sectionals so he’s been assigning us partners and making us perform with them.”

“It sounds like a great idea, actually. Who’s your partner?”

“...Rachel.”

“The same Rachel you always refuse to talk to me about?”

“That would be the one, yes.”

“Are you ready to talk about her?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Honestly? I just want this performance to be over so I can stop stressing about it. I really just want to go home today, but.”

“But what?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Quinn. I thought we were really making a breakthrough. Last session you were doing so well, and I really thought that maybe you and I were —“

“I agreed to go to a movie with Mercedes tonight is all,” I mumble. “I want to go home after Glee club but I told her I’d come. And I don’t really want to go, but I guess going is better than being at home.”

“Okay, let’s back up for one second. Who is Mercedes?”

“She’s my best friend, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well, yeah,” I know Bailey’s really big on making eye contact when I speak to her, but I can’t. Not if I’m going to tell her what I think I’m ready to tell her. So instead of looking her in the eye, I pick up a piece of my hair and pick at the split ends. “She took me in last year when I had no place else to go.”

“Is this when you were kicked out of your home?”

“Yeah,” I whisper and nod even though my vision is blurred over with tears. I bite down on my bottom lip to will the tears to stay in my eyes.

“It’s okay time cry, sweetie,” she leans forward and hands me a package of travel tissues. “What happened to you was very unfair and extremely tragic. You can cry while talking about it if you need to. Nobody here is expecting you to be a pillar of strength. I’m not expecting that.”

I pull a tissue from the plastic and dab my eyes with it. “I… I stayed with Puck for a little bit in the beginning. I mean, no. I stayed with Finn at first because… I don’t know,” I wipe my cheek across my shoulder to dry more tears. “But then it all came out that I was lying and then I stayed with Puck and that was horrible… and I just… I don’t know. So then Mercedes told me I could stay with her. And she’s my best friend now, I really think she is. I tell her everything and she’s just so understanding all the time and she’s… _ such _a good friend. Which is why I feel… guilty? I don’t know.”

“Feel guilty about what, Quinn?”

“Guilty that I haven’t told her? I mean she knows the basics about me going away and where I was. But I didn’t tell her anything else. And I feel like maybe she deserves to know because she’s always been so good to me.”

“You don’t owe anyone anything when it comes to your mental health, okay? I do think you could benefit from telling Mercedes and having someone outside of therapy you can bond with. But that should come on your own time. You shouldn’t feel obligated to share anything.”

“I know,” I dab my eyes with more tissues and look at my red painted toenails inside of my wedges.

“So I’d like to go back and talk about something you just said if that’s okay,” she reaches across the table and puts her hand on my kneecap. Any other time, I’d usually snatch away from her because I’m not a huge fan of being touched when I’m upset, but I decide to let this go. I decide to let her comfort me. “I don’t need you to relive the entire story. But I would like to know what led you to lie. I know the situation is still very tough for you to speak about and I have enough from your file and the notes from your sessions with Jessica to have a pretty general understanding about the lie. Now I just want to know why you felt the need to do it.”

“Can’t we talk about it some other time?”

“I think now’s as good a time as any,” she makes her voice very soft. “I would like to unpack the lie, if that’s fine with you.”

“It wasn’t really a lie,” I say. “I thought I was… pregnant to someone else and I wasn’t and when he found out I wasn’t he got mad. Simple.”

“You didn’t really believe that, did you? You can be honest with me, Quinn. I’m not here to judge.”

“I did believe that, though.”

“So you expect me to believe that a girl who gets a…” she opens up a folder on the table beside her and rummages through a few papers inside it. “...98% in reproductive health class and a 102% in human anatomy and physiology truly believed that she was pregnant to someone she hadn’t even slept with?”

“It happens.”

“I don’t think you believed that. I think you wanted to. But I don’t think you actually did. ...Did you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you lie, Quinn?”

“I don’t know why I lied, I just did.”

“Maybe it was because Finn being the father is what you _ wanted _to believe?”

“I don’t know… maybe…”

“...Quinn, when something traumatic happens… like what happened between you and Noah, sometimes we do anything to compartmentalize and cope. Don’t you think it’s possible that you knew Finn wasn’t the father. Maybe you knew that Noah was, but you couldn’t really… cope with what happened to do. You didn’t want to believe what he did to you. So in order to cope, you… made up this different version in your head of what happened. A version in which Finn was the father. Does that make sense?”

“Can we stop for the day? Please?”

“...I do think this is a good place to stop.”

* * *

* * *

After talking to Bailey, I really don’t know how I ended up in the choir room.

It’s almost like I blacked out or something because I don’t remember packing my stuff up and leaving the room where Bailey and I talked. I don’t remember going back to class and making it through the last period of the day, and I certainly don’t remember walking into the choir room and taking my seat in the back. But somehow, I made it here. And I’m sitting behind Sam and Mercedes and I can’t stop thinking about how badly I don’t want to go to the movies with them today. I really just want to go home and lie down.

I’m halfway expecting the next person to come through the door to be Rachel, but it’s not. Instead, Finn shuffles into the room and takes his unassigned assigned seat in the front. Nor far behind him is Puck, and I have to actively look away from him. Most days, I can handle it. Most days it burns, but I can swallow it easily and put on a brave face and make it through the day by plastering on a smile and being cordial with him.

But there are some days — days like today — where it’s all just too much. It burns and I can’t swallow it, it hurts and I can’t put a bandage over it. I feel my leg shaking and I can’t stop it and I feel the tears forming deep in the ducts of my eyes, but I can’t stop them. He walks into the room with an air and a swagger about him that is utterly magnetic, and it makes me nauseous. Before he sits down, he raises his two fingers at me and winks, and I feel like my head is floating away from my body. He sits with his back turned toward me and I let out a breath, but I didn’t know that I was holding it in the first place…

_ “S-Slow down,” my voice comes out in a tone that I can barely recognize. I had to force it out, too. Like peanut butter stuck in the back of my throat that I have to force up. “Wait, slow down.” _

_ It feels like he has a million hands. Two on my waist, two on my chest, two between my legs, two holding my arms. When did he grow so many hands? _

_ And when did the room start spinning? I haven’t felt this way since I was eight and Dad took Frannie and me to a carnival in downtown Lima. I went into a funhouse and they had a room inside of it that kept spinning and spinning and I remember feeling so out of control and like I’d never get out of that room that I sat down and cried until Daddy came inside to get me. It’s all whirlly and spinny again and it doesn’t get any better when I close my eyes and I wonder if maybe I can cry and have my Daddy come pick me up again. _

_ I used to think that Mommies and Daddies had special radar inside of them. Special radar that can sense when their children are crying and they need to come to the rescue. I believed that for a really long time. I believed that for so long that in fact, tonight is the first night I start to believe that it’s not true. Because I’ve been crying since he unbuttoned my skirt ten minutes ago and my daddy hasn’t come to save me yet. _

_ “Wait, wait, w-wait,” I whisper and my breath smells fruity. _

_ “You have to relax, okay? You really have to relax. It’s going to hurt if you don’t.” _

_ “I’m not sure I —“ _

“So,” Mr. Shue clasps his hands together loud, and I’m usually annoyed but this time, I’m very thankful for the sudden noise to break me out of my thoughts. “Anybody finish their assignment?”

A few hands raise up in the air and it’s only when I see hers that I realize I missed her entire entrance. I haven’t seen her today, so I don’t know what she’s wearing and I didn’t realize just how much I actually missed her until now..

“Rachel?” Mr. Schue calls her name first. “Did you and Quinn want to go first?”

“We do, actually,” she says and glances back at me. I don’t know what else to do besides give her a measly thumbs up. She stands up from her chair and rushes to the front of the room and I’m not sure if I should get up too just yet. She’s always so much better at this kind of thing than me.

I don’t want her to do any of this alone, so I do stand up. And I walk across the very back row just so I don’t have to walk past him. Before I make it to the front of the class right beside Rachel, I fix myself because I just feel like I should look just as amazing as she does. Her red and blue plaid patterned skirt with her red and white sweater… she looks so comfortable and so confident and I wish some of it would rub off on me.

I remember that we discussed sitting down while we were rehearsing yesterday, so I grab two chairs and sit them side by side while she finishes our big elaborate introduction.

“So Quinn and I put a lot of thought into our song selection and we came up with something that showcases both my powerful, powerful range and her gentle, yet subtle beauty in hitting more softer notes,” she rambles and I roll my eyes at her just so everyone watching thinks our relationship is still mostly hate. “This song means a lot to both of us, but mostly to Quinn because she finally realized that music is supposed to express feelings that we cannot always express. Music is supposed to say the words we can’t always say. That was the inspiration behind our song choice. And well… I think this song fits the both of us perfectly.”

“The floor is yours ladies,” Mr. Schue sits down beside Tina and gives us our undivided attention.

Rachel hits a button on the remote that controls the speaker system and when the first notes of our song start, I feel like I’m going to get up and run away because I can’t do this all of a sudden. My stomach is in knots and my throat is burning with vomit that needs to come out. I’m not a great singer. I can’t do this in front of the whole class. We practiced and practiced and I thought I sounded decent but next to Rachel, I’m a complete failure. Our voices together can’t possibly be good. I’m the weaker link. And more importantly, what if everybody knows me after this? She made it a point to let them know that this song is important to me and I picked it for a good reason, so what if everyone knows now that I’m not as strong as I seem? What if everyone knows that I miss Beth after this and I’m not doing so great? Oh god, I can’t do this. I can’t… the notes are creeping up now and it’s almost my turn. 

_ I start the song I start the song and the first verse is completely mine and I’m gonna blow I’m really gonna blow it because I’m such a horrible singer and I’m so nervous and I can’t do this and everyone is staring at me!!!! _

The notes that I’m supposed to start singing on come and go… they come and they go and everyone is just kinda looking at us like we’re crazy. Looking at _ me _ like I’m crazy. But I’m stuck. I can’t do this. I can’t sing. The song just keeps playing behind us and I can’t even say a word.

“Excuse us,” Rachel mumbles and turns the instrumental off with the remote again.

She grabs my arm and pulls me up out of my chair, then drags me off to the corner beside the door where nobody can hear us. She doesn’t look too disappointed in me but if I know Rachel like I think I do… she has to be annoyed at the very least. I can’t believe I messed this up for her…

“What’s going on?” she asks in a loud whisper. I glance over her shoulder at everyone still watching us. She follows my eyes and grabs ahold of my hand. I feel like an electric current just riveted through both our bodies. I look down at her hand grasping mine. Her soft, feminine hand. “We practiced, Quinn. You can do this. Just tune everybody out. Pretend they’re not here. It’s just you and me back in my room singing again. You can do this. We can do this. We’re amazing together.”

“I-I’m,” I start and have to clear my throat to finish. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine. We can start over. Just… just look at me if you get nervous. Don’t look at anybody else.”

“Mmkay,” I nod and slowly follow her back to the two seats in front of everybody. I take a deep breath, then sit down again. She doesn’t say anything to anyone again. No apology, no explanation. She just grabs the remote and starts the song over.

I look at Mr. Schue to see if I can tell what he’s thinking but I can’t. His eyes are warm and gentle, kind. He’s understanding and looking at me like I’m a fragile baby bird that’s being pushed out of the nest too early. I know for sure that Miss Pillsbury told him about where I spent my summer.

I look at Mercedes who is looking at me like I’m the sun that lights up the room. She’s hopeful and really believes in me, I can feel that.

I look at Santana holding Brittany’s hand and I can tell she’s waiting for me to fail, but when she’s holding Brittany’s hand, she seems soft.

I look at Finn who’s looking at Rachel like she hung the moon in the sky and suddenly I want to be the only person to look at her like that.

I look at Puck and I start to think, once again, that I can’t do this…

_ She told you to look at her. You two are the only people in the room, remember…. _

So I turn my body a little bit before the note comes that I have to start on and look at Rachel. Her round, chocolate brown eyes. The soft bangs that fall to the middle of her forehead. The way her nostrils flare when she’s really about to nail a song. Something about her is my center. It’s my calm, steadying force. She makes me feel like I can do anything. She makes me feel so brave that when my note comes, I actually start…

**“Weatherman said… it’s gonna snow… by now I should be used to the cold,” ** I don’t sound too bad… god she was right. All I had to do was look at her and picture that we were both back in her room again. It’s not so horrible… I can do this… **“Mid-February shouldn’t be so scary. It was only December, I still remember the presents… the tree… you...and me.”**

_ Okay, just a small part now. You and her sing the chorus together. Keep your pitch steady. Runs sharp. You can do this… you can do it. _

Rachel opens her mouth to start singing the chorus and I do too. I just have to blend in with her. I can’t make her sound horrible. It’s impossible. I prove myself right when we both start to sing, ** _“But you went away... How dare you? I miss you. They say I’ll be okay… but I’m not going to… ever get over you.”_ **

_ You made it. It’s her turn now. You weren’t terrible but if you were, she can pick up the slack and really make this performance a home run. If anyone can do that, it’s Rachel… _

_ “Living alone here in this place… I think of you and I’m not afraid…” _ She starts her own solo section and god I feel like the angels are calling me home. Her voice is so beautiful. And she’s looking at me while she’s singing and I’ve never felt more important. I’ve never felt more like I mean something to somebody. How can one person make me feel that way? _ “Your favorite records make me feel better. ‘Cause you sing along with every song. I know you didn’t mean to give them to me…” _

** _“But you went away… how dare you? I miss you… they say I’ll be okay… but I’m not going to… ever get over you...”_ **

She makes me feel brave enough to look away from her now. Like I can face the entire Glee club and sing my heart out if I want to because she’ll catch me if I fail. So for my next part, I turn and face the group. And take a deep breath before I start…

**“It really sinks in, you know. When I see it in stone… but you went away… how dare you?”**

_ “I miss you… they say I’ll be okay… but I’m not going to…” _

** _“Ever get… over you.”_ **

As soon as we’re done with the last note, Rachel reaches over and grabs my hand again. Everyone bursts into thunderous applause and I feel like I just climbed Mount Everest. I squeeze Rachel’s hand just to prove to myself that it’s real and she is holding me. We did great and everyone is clapping for us, some people are even standing. Mr. Schue looks like he’s crying and Artie does too. They liked it, they really really liked it. And I don’t care if they know how personal this song is. I mean yeah it’s about someone dying but in a sense, sometimes I feel like Beth died too… and I don’t care if they get that. I don’t care if I just showed them my heart. They all get it. And they all understand. And they all loved us.

I look over at Rachel as we still hold hands and she smiles one of her day-brightening smiles at me. And she mouths the words, “good job,” to me. And I want to cry all over again but I won’t. I’ll hold onto this feeling.

“Wow,” Mr. Schue stands up, still clapping. “I don’t know how anybody is going to top that. But… Finn and Puck? You two are up next to try.”

* * *

* * *

“You and Rachel killed that,” Mercedes says as we walk towards the gym doors so we can head out to the parking lot.

After the performance, I’m actually really glad I agreed to go to the movies with her and Sam. Today is shaping up to be a good day and maybe catching a movie with my best friend and her boyfriend will be the cherry to top it off. I know she just invited me out of pity. I mean, I know she invited me because she knows all about my struggles and she wants to keep an eye on me to make sure I’m okay. But an invite is an invite and I’ll take it, even if it is a pity invite.

“Thanks, I was so nervous,” I play with the straps of my backpack as I walk. “I just didn’t want to sound ridiculous next to Rachel.”

“Well you didn’t. You held your own,” she says. “I’m telling you, there were some parts where you sounded even better than Rachel.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not! Quinn, you have a great voice. It may not be as strong and powerful and it may not project as well as hers, but it’s beautiful. You can hit notes that she can’t. When you get all soft like that? Rachel can’t do that. She can hit the big notes. The real soft ones? That’s all you.”

“...I never thought of it that way… thanks…” _ Maybe Mercedes is right… maybe there are notes that I can hit that nobody else can… maybe I am a special part of Glee club after all… _“Hey Cedes?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for inviting me out,” I wrap my arm around her shoulders because I’m really feeling the love all of a sudden. I know there are people around who can see us. Rachel’s a few steps behind us and she’s heading out to her car too and there’s Kurt who’s about to take Artie home. But I want to hug my best friend and that’s that. I don’t care who sees. “I really didn’t want to go home.”

“You’re welcome, girl.” Mercedes hugs me back and then we both let go. “I’ll see you in a little bit, okay? I gotta go find Sam. I’m supposed to be taking him home too.”

“Okay, see you,” I wave at her and grab my car keys from my jacket pocket. I leave out through the gym doors and head for the parking lot and I’m almost there when she calls my name and stops me.

“Quinn!” she calls after me and makes me stop in my tracks. “Hey Quinn, wait up!”

I turn around to face her and raise my eyebrows to let her know that I’m listening. “Yes?”

“Sorry for eavesdropping, but I just overheard.”

“Now you’re spying on my conversations?” I say that in the meanest tone I can conjure up, and she shrinks. “...I’m just kidding, my goodness. What’s up?”

“God, I thought you were back to hating me again,” she giggles. “But I just heard you tell Mercedes that you don’t want to go home. If you’re not doing anything and still don’t want to go home, you can come to my house again. But if you have more important things to do, that’s fine too. Just thought I should offer.”

“Thanks for the offer Rachel, but I… I do have plans, actually,” I grin at her and walk away before I’m tempted to just cancel on Mercedes. Plus, I’ve had enough Rachel for one day. My feelings are already in maximum overdrive and if I hang out with her again, I think I might lose it.

_ Hanging out with her does sound really appealing though… _


	16. So Excited

Every time I look around, I notice something that I didn’t notice before.

I guess maybe it’s because the last time I was here was the also the first time I was here and I didn’t exactly come on good terms. I came because I fought with my mom and I needed a place to escape to, and I was a big emotional wreck the last time I sat on this bed. This time, I’m thinking pretty clearly. There’s no tears clouding my vision and no fight with my mother clouding my head. I came on my own free will, I came on my own terms, and I can actually look around and make myself familiar with my surroundings.

I didn’t notice last time how perfectly her the room is. Playbills line the corkboard that hangs above her dresser, and they’re all in alphabetical order. Ticket stubs from various local plays are stuffed along the perimeter of her mirror, and a feather boa frames it. The yellow plush rug in front of her bed is in the shape of a star, and it matches the yellow canopy hanging over her bed completely. Everything is neat and everything has its place. I run my fingers along the light pink chiffon that her bedspread is made out of and inhale the scent of her room.

“If you’re hungry, we could order a pizza or something,” she breaks the silence between us and puts her phone down. I won’t lie, the silence was starting to get a bit awkward. “I’ll pay.”

I’m starting to realize that without having a song to be studying and rehearsing, we actually don’t have that much in common and we certainly don’t have much to talk about. She sits on the floor with her back slumped against her bed and I sit with my feet hanging over the edge of her bed. I could read her text messages over her shoulder if I wanted to, but I’m too busy taking in everything that I missed the last time I was here. Like the picture of her and Shelby tucked underneath her jewelry box on her nightstand.

“I’m not hungry,” I shake my head. The silence between us returns and this time, it feels a bit heavy. Like maybe she realized that we don’t have much to talk about, too.

“...You know you don’t have to hang out here, Quinn,” she nearly whispers as she picks up a stuffed white kitten and twists the black beady eyeball on it. “I wouldn’t have felt bad if you said no when I asked. I mean… why would you?”

“Why would I what?”

“Want to hang out with someone like me.”

“Rachel…” I bite my lip and try to formulate the words before I even say them. I want to tell her that she needs to stop selling herself short. I want to tell her that she’s awesome and anybody would be lucky to hang out with her. I want to tell her that she’s not as bad as everyone — as  _ I  _ used to — make her seem. I want to give her a hug and tell her that I’m sorry if I ever contributed to making her feel like she doesn’t deserve friends who want to be in her presence and I want to say sorry for making her feel that she was any less than me. I have all these things I want to say in my head, but for some reason, all that comes out is, “It makes me feel better if I hang out with someone that’s an even bigger loser than me.”

I wait for a giggle or a chuckle to let me know that she knows I’m just joking, but one doesn’t come. Instead, her face just twists up and she pushes the nose of the stuffed kitten really hard, like she’s trying to distract herself. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings and I really don’t know why I do that. I mean, I know it’s technically probably because hating her is still easier than allowing myself to feel anything more than that, but I don’t ever want to hurt Rachel. So I don’t know why I always do.

“Hey,” I say gently and rest my hand against her shoulder. “I’m only kidding. You really need to start believing in yourself a little more.”

I wish that I could keep going and say more. Like apologizing and all that stuff that I just said a little earlier. I wish I could tell her all of those things, too. But the self-preservation side of me won’t allow anything else to pass through my lips, so I leave it at that. Rachel tosses the stuffed kitten on her bed and sighs, still avoiding eye contact with me.

“Why did you agree to hang out with me again, Quinn?” she asks. “I’m not stupid, I know you had something planned with Mercedes tonight. Why would you choose sitting here with me over that?”

“Because I had fun with you yesterday, believe it or not.” I sit upright again and grab my own phone just to cut the awkwardness down a bit. “I’m… warming up to you, Rachel. You’re not that bad.”

“Oh,” she whispers.

_ I wish this were easy. I wish I was like normal girls without the thoughts I have going through my head, because then hanging out with Rachel wouldn’t be so hard. If I were a normal girl, I’d be sitting on her bed talking to her about why she and Finn broke up and I’d be encouraging her to play some Taylor Swift, sing at the top of her lungs, and get over him. If I were normal, I wouldn’t be fighting the urge to cry because I want to reach down and hold her hand so badly. I wouldn’t have to bite my lip and clench my fist every time I get the urge to run my fingers through her hair. _

_ I must be into self torture. Because I knew when I agreed to blow off Mercedes and come hang out with Rachel instead that I would be absolutely miserable and absolutely on cloud nine at the same time. It’s scary to think that I may never get there. I may never get to the point where I can sit and hang out with Rachel without wanting to touch her in ways that aren’t normal. It might always hurt this bad. It might always be this hard… _

“My dads are golfing until nine,” she starts, breaking me away from the internal madness that is going on inside my head. “So they’ll be home late.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So we can, I dunno, break into the alcohol cabinet if you want.” 

I feel my eyebrows wrinkle and if she weren’t too busy avoiding eye contact with me like I’m Medusa or something, she’d see the very literal “what the heck?” look on my face right now.  _ What?  _ “W-Why would we…? Why would we do that?”

“I don’t know, I’m just trying to make things more interesting, alright? You can tell me how awesome you suddenly think I am all you want, but I know this isn’t that popular kids do when they hang out outside of school.”

“Okay first of all,” I slide down off her bed so I’m sitting right beside her with my back against her bed also. “It’s Thursday. It’s a school night. I’m not getting drunk on a school night. And second of all,” I scoot just a little closer to her so our arms are touching.  _ God, she’s so soft.  _ “Nobody it’s putting a gun to my head and forcing me to be here with you, Rachel. I’m here because I want to be. I wish you would just accept that.”

“Do you blame me for being skeptical, though?”

“No, not at all,” I mumble and rest my chin on top of my kneecap.  _ I can see this is going to take a lot of effort to fix this relationship between us and get her to believe that I don’t hate her…  _ “I don’t drink anymore. Last time I drank, I ended up getting more than I bargained for, so. Raiding the liquor cabinet is out.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“Show me what you do for fun.”

“Okay Quinn, now you’re being —“

“I’m serious! You’re trying so hard to figure out things that  _ I  _ would like to do, but not telling me anything that you’d like to do. You’re trying too hard and believe me, you don’t have to try that hard. Believe it or not, I’m much more partial to quiet nights inside these days. So… show me something new. Show me what Rachel Berry does for fun.”

She sighs again and tilts her head up to the ceiling, deep in thought. I noticed a while ago that there’s a vein in her forehead that comes out when she’s thinking. Her eyebrows get all straight and her mouth turns down into a serious line. She looks up at the sky and then this vein that is just over her left temple comes out and I think it’s cute.

“...Have you ever seen “Beaches”?” she asks.

“I used to go to Myrtle Beach every summer with my family and —“

“No, no, not actual beaches. I mean “Beaches”... the movie? Bette Midler’s greatest work?”

“...Who?

“Oh my God, Quinn. Who are you? What planet did you come from?”

“Let’s watch Beaches then,” I shrug.

* * *

* * *

  
“Be sure to keep in touch, C.C., okay?”

As soon as the little girl’s childlike voice says the word “okay”, I feel my throat close up the way it always does when I’m about to cry. The rims of my eyes fill up with tears and I have to purse my lips together to keep myself from crying. It’s only now, when I’m trying to keep myself from blinking the tears out of my eyes, that I realize I haven’t blinked in a while. I’ll admit, I didn’t think I was going to like this movie much, but it grabbed me by the throat and I’ve been invested since the first ten minutes.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rachel mouth “Well sure, we’re friends, aren’t we?” along with the girl on screen from memory and although the lights are off, I can see tears shining on her cheeks. Thick tears, too. Hot and runny, the kind that you cry when you’re deeply mourning someone.

I don’t like seeing her cry like this and even though I know that she’s not  _ actually  _ hurt, it still makes me want to pull her in close so I can comfort her.

I hold my breath to keep my own tears in my eyes, but I really feel like I’m going to give in and cry too. I’ve never seen a movie quite like Beaches before. I’m not really much of a movie watcher to begin with, but I have seen a few that have really moved me and some have almost made me cry. I don’t know why, but I almost cried during Finding Nemo the first time I watched it, and when I was pregnant, me and Mercedes went to the movies to see Alvin and the Chipmunks and I almost cried during that too. But no movie’s ever got me the way this one did. No movie has ever made me have to actively talk myself out of crying.

Rachel fumbles with her necklace as a fresh round of tears roll down her cheeks while the movie draws to a close. I can tell we’re at the last few scenes because the music just got all dramatic and the camera is zooming out. I look down at Rachel’s free hand, just resting on the floor in the empty space between us. Part of me feels like I’m going to regret doing this the second I do, but if I don’t do it now… I might lose my nerve.

When she sniffles, I quickly lay my own hand down in the space between us too, and touch hers with my pinky finger. She startles gently, like she wasn’t expecting me to touch her at all, but does a great job at concealing her surprise. Mostly, she just looks down at my hand to make sure that I actually  _ am  _ touching her. I do my best to not make a big deal of it. I keep staring straight ahead at the TV screen.

And just as the credits start to roll up the screen, she locks her pinky finger around mine. And we stay like that for a few moments, pinky in pinky. Both staring at the screen and taking in what we just watched. Both too emotionally drained to get up and move, both too stuck to the bed trying to hold onto this moment together.

I wish I was brave enough to fully hold her hand. I wish I could shut the part of my brain that judges myself off and full on lock all of my fingers inside hers. I can’t even imagine that.

I already feel like my world started spinning just a little faster by touching her. And when she reciprocated and locked her finger inside of mine, my body felt hot and soupy, like someone turned up the heat and all my organs melted into sludge inside of me. Isn’t it crazy how someone can make you feel that way and have no idea that they do?

Her finger is soft against mine and more slender. It’s slightly clammy and usually when people with clammy hands touch me, I freak out a little inside because that’s sweat and that’s gross. But when it comes to Rachel… I’m happy to have her clammy finger pressed up against mine. I hope she never lets it go.

But all good things, of course, must come to an end. So when the screen goes black to display more credits, she pulls her hand away from mine and wipes the tears from her face as she reaches over to turn on her bedside lamp.

“So,” she starts, still sounding a bit nasally from crying. “That’s Beaches.” She turns off the movie with the remote and sits cross legged beside me, pulling herself together. “What’d you think?”

“I think,” I start, sitting up and gathering myself too. I tuck my hair behind my ears, blink back the round of tears that never managed to escape my eyes, and smooth out my jacket. I don’t know why I care so much about looking good for her when we just spent two hours staring at her TV. “I missed out on a preteen girl’s rite of passage. I feel like I should have watched that years ago.”

“It basically is an initiation ritual at every middle school girl’s sleepover. I couldn’t figure out how you  _ hadn’t  _ seen it.”

“Probably because I was never invited to the middle school sleepovers,” I mumble. She looks like she wants to comment on what I just said and possibly talk more about it, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less than talking about how sad my life was before I transferred to McKinley for high school, so I swiftly change the subject. “How often do you watch that?”

“I haven’t in a while, actually. Kurt and I used to watch it all the time, but… we just… haven’t hung out in a while, that’s all,” she shrugs and grabs one of her pillows to squeeze. I notice that she likes to fidget with things when she’s nervous.

“Is Kurt your best friend?” I ask her before I even realize what came out of my mouth. I’m always interested in knowing more about her. I want to be the person who knows her the best. I know that’s creepy and weird and she’s smart so she might figure that out, so I clean it up by saying, “Like C.C. and Hillary best friend, I mean.”

“I…” she squeezes her pillow a little tighter. “I mean, I think so. We used to watch Beaches and argue about which one of us is C.C. and which one is Hillary. I think he’s still my best friend. But I don’t really know. He’s… he’s got Blaine now, and… and it’s kind of like he forgot about me.” I can tell by the way she says it that it’s the first time she’s actually said that out loud. Part of me wants to open up to her a little bit too and tell her that I relate. I remember when Mercedes first got together with Sam. I felt like my whole world came crashing down around me because my best friend wasn’t my best friend anymore. It’s a horrible feeling. I wish she didn’t have to go through it.

“You know —“ I start to tell her about the time I felt like Mercedes ditched me for Sam, but she starts talking too. And I decide to let her interrupt me because what she’s going to say is more important anyway.

“Who’s your best friend, Quinn? Who’s the C.C. to your Hillary?”

“Mercedes,” I say without thinking. “I think. I mean I tell her things that I don’t tell anybody else. But there are still some things I can’t tell even her, so. I don’t know,” I shrug. “...You know, to be honest Rachel…. I don’t think I’m capable of a friendship like that.”

“...Me either,” she whispers.

I feel the urge to reach out and touch her again and now that I know she won’t think it’s weird because I practically held her hand during the credits of the movie, I think I can give in. I just want to put my hand on her shoulder. Gently, I swear. I want my hand on her shoulder so I can feel her breathing beneath me. But god, imagine if something more happened?

Imagine if…

_ I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder. I give it a light squeeze just so she knows that I’m here and I support her. _

_ And she turns around. And she looks at me with those beautiful brown eyes — eyes that tell me that she needs me more than I ever thought she did. _

_ And it feels natural the way she closes her eyes and leans in. So natural that I do the same. I close my eyes too, and tilt my head so our noses to bump. _

_ And when our lips touch, it’s everything that I thought it would be. Her lips are smooth and glide gently underneath mine. Her breath is sweet, like she’d been eating candy prior to this. Her tongue pushes up against mine, then retreats back to her own mouth like she’s unsure if I want to kiss her or not. So I use my tongue to go and retrieve hers. _

_ Her hand cups against my cheek and — _

“Who do you think is the C.C. and Hillary between us?” she asks, just as my hand is hovering over her shoulder. I quickly pull it back and forget the thought. “Like, between us. Who’s C.C. and who’s Hillary?”

“Are you seriously asking which one of us would become a selfish, career-obsessed, egotistical jerk and which one would become a depressed, boring, wallflower of a housewife and lawyer?”

That makes her laugh. She tilts her head back and laughs one of those real hearty kind of laughs, too. One that comes from the gut and takes up your whole body. I made her laugh… and I think, for one split second, that I don’t want to do anything else with my life besides make her laugh.

“Good point,” she says through her smile.

I catch myself smiling with her and I realize that tonight is all I need to be happy. All I need is this moment right here, right now. All I need is her smiling at me, her laughter filling the room. Me in a pink and white dress with a white jacket over my shoulders, and her in a yellow blazer with a plaid skirt. Her hair slightly tousled but still silky and mine messy but kept held back by one braid at the crown of my head. If this is all my life ever is, I think I could be happy.

“You know Quinn, for what it’s worth…” she looks away from me and gets all serious and I’m nervous about what she’s going to say next. “I think anybody would be lucky to be the C.C. to your Hillary.”

A smile tugs at my lips. And for a moment, the part of my brain that overthinks everything is quiet. So quiet that I lean forward and drape my arm around her in somewhat of a side-hug ... one that she fully reciprocates.

“Thanks, Rachel,” I whisper into her ear as I inhale the scent of her shampoo. How is everything about her so perfect? If this is my life… if this is my life from now on… I will never be unhappy again...

_ But this isn’t. This isn’t all your life will ever be. Rachel’s not like you and you can’t have her. And even if you could have her in the way you want her, nobody would accept you. Not mom, not Dad, not God, not anybody around school. What kind of happiness could that possibly be? She’d never be able to come to your house and hang out like a boyfriend would. You’d never be able to walk down the hallway and hold her hand like you could with a boyfriend. Nobody — and I do mean nobody — would tolerate it. Hell, you wouldn’t even accept yourself.  _

“It’s getting late,” I mumble through clenched teeth and spring up off the bed like it suddenly turned to lava and burned my butt. “I really should head home.”

“Y-Yeah,” she glances at the clock on her dresser. “Yeah, I guess it is.” She stands up too and collects the empty cups we were drinking lemonade out of.

I fasten the bottom three buttons of my jacket and cram my feet back into my pink and white Vans. There’s a small piece of me that feels bad for leaving so abruptly, but I can feel myself getting mean. It’s rising up in the back of my throat like bile and I don’t think I’ll be able to choke it down, so instead of me ruining this amazing night by saying something really harsh and mean to her, I’m just going to leave. I’m going to leave while it’s still a good night.

“I’ll see you in school tomorrow,” I mumble again and dash off down the steps. I can feel her looking at me, confused and wondering if she did or said something wrong. I make a mental note to tell her tomorrow that she did nothing wrong at all, but I have to go.

I have to go right now.

* * *

* * *

_ October 12 _

_ I did it once today but I swear it wasn’t my fault. _

_ Last night with Rachel went really well and I thought for sure that I was making progress. I’m slowing figuring out how to navigate my feelings with her, and I’m figuring out how to choose the more exhausting option of being nice to her. Being nice to her still doesn’t come as naturally as being mean to her does, but I’m starting to see light at the end of the tunnel and starting to actually believe that it’s possible for me to be all nice to her all the time with a little more practice. _

_ We watched a movie together and for the entire duration of the movie, it felt like we were the only two people on the planet. It felt like everyone else just disappeared and it was me and her and the entire universe was reserved for us. It was a very special feeling, one that I’ve never felt before and I thought to myself that if I could just bottle up that feeling and take little sips of it whenever I’m feeling low, I would have my entire life figured out. _

_ After the movie, I started to remember that me and Rachel weren’t the only two people in the world and that there are other people out here, ugly people, people who will never ever accept me for what I may possibly be. And I remembered that I am one of those people. And I suddenly remembered how much I hate myself for what I am. And that thought made me burn up with so much rage inside of me that I had to leave, even though we were having such a nice time together. _

_ I cried on the way home and stopped to get myself some food because, well, I was hungry and I couldn’t risk eating in front of Rachel. So I ate alone in the driveway. Mom was still awake, so I sat in the driveway until I saw her light go out and then that’s when I started eating. Three tacos from Taco Bell and one of those Mountain Dew slushies that they sell. I hogged it all down like the disgusting pig that I am, and I got rid of it about ten minutes later before I took a shower. I think she knows that I’m avoiding her now, because before I left for school this morning, she heard me playing music on my phone while I was getting dressed for school. She knocked on the door twice, but I just paused my music and said nothing. She opened my door and I just laid back down in bed and pulled my blankets over my head. I don’t mean to be rude to her, I just don’t have anything to say. She’s going to want to talk about what I saw when I saw them having sex, but I just don’t want to talk. Not about that. _

_ I’ve been trying to get into her headspace and understand her a little, but I just can’t. I understand that she misses dad and maybe she even still loves him a little, but I can’t understand how she would ever want him back into her life. Not after all the things he’s done to us. Sometimes, things are just better off gone. Even if you miss them, even if you desperately want them back. Some things are just better off gone. And my parents’ relationship is one of those things. _

_ I was almost late for school this morning because I didn’t want to leave until she already left, just so I could avoid her some more. I wasn’t late, but I did miss breakfast and even though I was hungry, I wasn’t too upset about missing it because I’m no stranger to dealing with the sensation of being hungry. And plus, I decided today that I’m done throwing up. I did slip up once today, but like I said, it wasn’t my fault. _

_ Mercedes found me in the hallway before first period and I could tell that she was angry just by the way she was walking. She stomped and huffed and her nostrils flared and I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of a reason why she would be angry with me. But she started by telling me that I could have at least called to tell her and Sam that I was cancelling on going to the movies with them and that’s when I remembered. _

_ I tried to explain to her that I didn’t mean to stand her up, that I just ended up hanging out with Rachel instead, and she thought I was lying. I don’t blame her for thinking that I’m lying though, because Quinn Fabray hanging out with Rachel Berry just seems weird. She yelled at me a little more about how they sat outside my house and honked the horn for like 20 minutes and we’re almost late for the movie and that’s when I apologized profusely because I didn’t mean to make them so late and I really did just forget to tell them that I wasn’t coming. She was so mad because I even called back to her when we were leaving yesterday and told her to “wait up” just so I could confirm the time. It was a really shitty thing for me to do, to stand them up like that. And I felt so horrible, so crappy, so… miserable that I went to the bathroom and ate the granola bar and grapes that I packed for my lunch today. And I just had to get rid of it because someone who can stand their best friend up like that just doesn’t deserve food. _

_ In hindsight, I can’t say that I regret hanging out with Rachel instead because I don’t. I had a nice time with her and I get that Sam and Mercedes aren’t technically together yet. They’re supposedly “dating to figure out if they’re what each other wants”, but still. I would have been the third wheel and who really wants to be that?  _

_ Mercedes apologized for blowing up, by the way. At lunch, she gave me her oatmeal cookie and apologized to me. She said what I already knew, that she invited me because she’s worried about me and she feels like I can’t just sweep everything under the rug. She wants to talk to me about me going to that treatment center all summer and I’m just not ready to talk about that yet. I know she’s been dying for details but that’s still just a part of my life that I’d rather not relive. I’m trying to forget. And plus, once I tell Mercedes how dehumanizing that place was, she’ll never forget it and she’ll forever look at me like I’m the girl who went to treatment. I’m not ready for my best friend to look at me like that yet. _

_ I thought today was going to be a really rough day for me because the homecoming game is tonight and we had our homecoming pep rally at school today. I thought it was going to suck seeing everyone in their Cheerios uniforms, knowing that I wasn’t going to be in them. But I sat beside Tina, Mercedes and Rachel at the pep rally and it wasn’t that bad. I didn’t even want to be on the floor with the Cheerios, which I thought was odd. We made plans to go to the homecoming game together tonight, and afterwards we’re going to go to Puck’s party. It’s a costume party, so I have approximately six hours to figure out a slutty yet classy costume to wear before we all pile up at Mercedes’ house to get dressed and go. Her parents won’t be home to comment on how skanky we look, so her house is the best venue to get ready. _

_ I’m not all that excited to see Puck tonight at his party, but Rachel’s coming with us so I guess that’s a small risk I’m willing to take. I know tonight won’t be as intimate as last night was with Rachel, but at least I’m going to see her outside of school and Glee again and that’s something worth celebrating. _

_ I’m actually excited about the game and the party. I’m actually starting to feel like a normal teenager again. _

_ I even forgot about Beth for a little while today. Usually, missing her is a very dull ache that’s always there. But today at the pep rally, it went away. And it stayed away all through us making the plans to go to the game and then to Puck’s party together. I didn’t think about her at all, and I didn’t miss her at all. And it felt good for a minute, but then it made me feel guilty because I shouldn’t be enjoying myself. I should be at home making bottles and reading bedtime stories. Instead, I’m planning to go out with my friends on a Friday night. And I forgot all about my sweet baby girl that someone else is taking care of. _

_ I  _ _ forgot _ _ about her. _

_ ...Doesn’t that make me a bad mother? _


	17. With You

* * *

* * *

  
The wind blows around me and for the first time, I notice the scent of fresh French fries cooking and hot dogs roasting. If I take a deep breath and really inhale, I can also sniff out the scent of hot chocolate bubbling and nacho cheese warming. My feet are firmly on the white and red row of bleachers in front of me and I can feel them vibrating from the music pumping through the overhead speakers. I know I probably look strange to anyone watching, but there’s not a lot of people here yet, so now is the best time to do it. I tilt my head towards the sky and close my eyes to really take all of this in.

I wanted to get here early, before everyone else just so I can have a moment alone to break the ice. I’ve noticed since coming out of treatment that little things are now big things with me and I don’t want to admit it, but I was a little bit scared of how I might react to being at a football game on the opposite end of the spectrum. Spending Friday nights under the lights at McKinley High School’s stadium is nothing new for me, but my brain is so used to being down on the field with turf underneath my sneakers, not bleachers.

If my life was anything like the way it used to be, I would be in the locker room right now, asking Santana or Brittany to zip up my skirt in the back and make sure my ponytail looked okay. I would be wiping the scuffs off my shoes with a Clorox wipe and rolling my fifteenth coat of deodorant under my armpits because even though it’s supposed to be freezing tonight, I always found a way to sweat in my uniform. I’d be rolling my socks exactly three times on each side and tying perfectly symmetrical bows in my shoelaces. I’d be rubbing lipgloss across my lips and feeling my head swell with confidence as the other girls in the locker room marveled at how supple my lips are and how nice my butt looks in my skirt.

But my life isn’t like that anymore and I don’t know why, but it’s taking me a bit long to comprehend that. 

I chose a seat on the 50 yard line, right in the middle of everything so I don’t miss a beat. It seems fitting for the old me, because the stadium lights above my head are shining down directly on me like I’m cast into a spotlight and every ounce of me should be lapping this up right now. But I’m not like that anymore and the light shining down so brightly makes me uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable enough to move, because I got here early and this is a really great seat, but uncomfortable enough for me to have to wipe my hands on the knees of my jeans because they’re sweating. 

I'm starting to get used to the feeling of being a spectator and not a cheerleader when my phone buzzes on the bleachers beside me.

**New Group iMessage**

**6:22 p.m.**

**TINA: **hey Guys I’m parking now. Anybody in yet?

**6:23 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **Standing in line for tix

**MERCEDES: **I’ll find seats

**ME: **already in. sitting at the 50yl. five rows down.

**TINA: **OK great 

**MERCEDES: **Save us seats

**ME: **will do

**6:25 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Just now leaving the house :/ Couldn’t figure out what to wear. Have to stop and get gas - Be there in 15!

**ME: **okay see ya <3

**MERCEDES: **Call us when ur here

**TINA: **I’ll come meet u

**RACHEL: **Thanks!!!!!

We agreed to meet here at 6:30 since homecoming festivities start at 7:00, but I saw Mom’s car pull into the driveway at 5:40 and decided that going a little early wouldn’t hurt. She came in through the front door and I left out through the back door and we didn’t even cross paths. I checked the weather when I got inside my car and stopped at Marshall’s to buy myself a jacket when it said it was going to be chilly tonight. Sure, I could have just gone home and got one from my closet. In fact, my blue jean jacket would go really nicely with my jeans and long sleeved McKinley t-shirt. But I know the second I step foot back into the house, Mom is going to corner me and talk to me and I’m still just not ready to face her yet.

I’ve still been working on having some empathy for her and trying to put myself in her shoes but every time I try to really understand her and the love she has for my dad, I just can’t… 

_ It took everything in me to get this far. It took all of my strength to walk up the cobblestone path, all of my dignity to climb up the cobblestone steps, and all my courage to raise my fist and knock on the door. _

_ I shove my hands into my pockets because I’m so cold that they’re numb, and watch my breath disperse into the wintry air when I take a deep breath. _

_I’m just going to ask for fifty. That’s it. Just fifty. Twenty for my prenatal pills down at the pharmacy, twenty for some medicine to help with my cold, and ten for food because I’m so hungry that I’m lightheaded. All I need is fifty. They’ll give me fifty… won’t they?_

_The porch light flickers on and I hold my breath. My legs feel like Jell-O beneath me, so I hold onto the railing that lines the porch to be sure I won’t fall. _

_ Maybe I’ll ask to use the bathroom, too. And possibly get some of my winter clothes. _

_ The doorknob turns and I feel nauseous. I haven’t seen them or talked to them in about five months and I haven’t felt the warmth of my own home in six. It’s crazy how you don’t realize how much you miss home until you’ve been somewhere so different for a while. _

_ The door creaks open and as soon as it does, fresh tears roll down my cheeks. I’m so cold that they feel hot, like burning my face. _

_ “D-Daddy?” I say in a voice barely above a whisper when he opens the door all the way. _

_ I must have caught him just as he was going upstairs for the night. He has his house slippers on and his robe is tied around his waist. At first, I think his face looks concerned… like maybe he’s worried about me. But just as quickly as that look of concern brushed across his face, it goes away. And I swear, I can see literal flames in his eyes and smoke coming out of his ears when his eyes flicker down to my terribly swollen abdomen. _

_ “The hell do you want?” his voice is harsh, like driving down a gravelly street. And he won’t look at me. He looks down at my feet while he speaks. “The hell are you at my door for?” _

_ “Quinnie?” Mom’s voice is gentle. Almost like stroking me with a feather. Hearing her say my name makes me feel warm and god, I just really really really want a hug… _

_ “I need some help,” I say through tears. I want to bring my hands up to my face and wipe them away, but I really feel like my body is frozen. “Please?” _

_“I thought I told you not to come around here anymore. Didn’t I tell you to stay away? Didn’t I —“_

_ “Russell —“ my mom tries to stop him, but he puts his hand up and silences her just like that. _

_ “I told you you’re dead to us. Dead to this family. And I don’t —_

“Damn, when did they start charging us $12 to get in?” Mercedes interrupts my daydream and I’m incredibly thankful that she did before I got to the part where Daddy slammed the door in my face. She clatters down the bleachers to sit beside me and behind her follows Tina.

“I know!” Tina replies. “I’m glad I grabbed an extra twenty. Otherwise I’d have like, no money for food,” she sits down on the other side of Mercedes and leans forward to talk to me. “Great seat choice by the way.”

“I wanted us to be able to see everything,” I mumble and formally shake my bad daydream from my head. _ There’s no space for being sad tonight. Just think happy thoughts… _

“Hey,” Mercedes nudges me with her elbow and I raise my eyebrows so she knows I’m paying attention. “Sorry again. About what I said in the hallway earlier and how I blew up. It’s really no big deal that you didn’t come to the movie. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. 

“It’s okay,” I shrug. “I should’ve told you I wasn’t coming. I just got caught up in the moment.”

“I’m worried about you is all.”

“I know,” I say, eyes stuck on Tina to Mercedes know that she needs to watch what she says. She’s still the only person who knows… “I appreciate it.”

Tina locks her phone and stands up, shoving it into her back pocket. “I’m gonna go grab something from the concession stand before the lines get all long. You guys want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Mercedes shakes her head.

“I’m alright,” I decline too. 

“Okay, I’ll be back. Rachel says she’s trying to find somewhere to park, so she’ll be in soon.”

“Okay,” Mercedes and I both say at the same time as Tina walks away. 

And something tells me that she was waiting for us to be alone to ask, so I’m not surprised when Mercedes opens her mouth and says, “So you were hanging out with Rachel?”

“Yeah,” I say coolly, trying my hardest to keep up my facade. “It’s no big deal. We just watched a movie and talked and then I went home. It was fine. Fun, actually.”

“You and Rachel…?”

“Yeah, me and Rachel,” I’m annoyed and it reflects in my tone. But I can’t get mad at anybody but myself for everyone’s constant doubt in our newfound friendship. Not after the way I’ve always treated Rachel. Hell, I’d doubt my intentions too. “...My therapist said I should try to make amends with everyone I used to pick on. So this is me trying to do that. With Rachel. And… and I guess I found that she’s actually pretty cool.” I lie so smoothly that I scare myself. Maybe it came so smoothly because it’s only a half-lie. Jessica did say that I should try to make amends with the people I was rude to. I just lied about this being my attempt at doing it with Rachel…

“She really isn’t that bad. Especially outside of Glee club. She is cool,” Mercedes nods in agreeance with me. “What movie did you guys watch?”

“Beaches.”

“Oh my god! I love Beaches!”

“It was my first time seeing it and it was… it was something, I’ll tell you that.” 

She laughs and I grin, but my grin is short lived because I’m deep in thought again…

_I know I said I don’t think I’m capable of a relationship like C.C. and Hillary’s in Beaches, and I still think that’s true. But how would I know if it’s true or not if I’ve never really tried? I’ve never tried to let somebody know me so fully. I’ve never tried to establish a friendship deeper than surface level. Even with me and Mercedes, our friendship lacks depth. And I’m the reason for that. I always keep her at an arm’s length away. Maybe I should try to be deeper with her… maybe I should… tell her. _

_ Would she judge me? No. At least I don’t think so. She’s probably ask a million questions but that’s it. _

_ Would she stop being my friend? I don’t think so. If anything, I think she’d understand me better. _

_ Would she think I’m weird? Maybe. But liking another girl romantically is kind of weird… especially if I’m nothing but mean to the girl I like. _

_ Would she think I’m a vile sinner? I mean probably, but Mercedes doesn’t seem real big into church… she accepts Kurt really well… so maybe… _

“Hey ‘Cedes?”

“Yup?”

“...Am I your best friend?” I ask, voice going up an entire pitch at the end of the question like a kindergartener asking. “I mean, do you consider _ us _best friends? Like do you think that we could be considered... best friends?”

“I have a lot of friends, Quinn,” she starts and I instantly feel my mood deflate. I don’t know why, but hearing her say that stings like a whole different type of rejection. I bite my bottom lip to keep my tears in check. “But none of them are like you.”

“...What?” I turn towards her and wrinkle my eyebrows.

“Just what I said, none of them are like you. I have a lot of friends but none of them… I don’t know, I guess I just never thought that I would be your friend. You always seemed like the kind of girl that I would hate. You know, skinny, blonde, pretty, popular… and your casual offhand racism used to get me.”

I cringe when she says that, but I know that she said it in good faith. She didn’t mean anything by it, so I grin and say, “Sorry about it. Grew up with Trump supporters as parents, I’ve been classically conditioned. I’m learning, though. Keep correcting me when I’m out of line.”

She laughs a little harder and wraps her arm around me to pull me in for a side hug. Mercedes gives the warmest hugs.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I… just didn’t consider the possibility that I could be your friend,” she continues. “But then I got to know you and I realized that I can be my truest self around you. Around Tina, I can’t stand out too much or I’ll make her feel bad. Around Santana, I can’t be the chubby girl or she’ll tear me apart. With Kurt, I can’t dress the way I wanna dress or he’ll call the fashion police. And around Rachel, I can’t sing better or louder or else she’ll lose her mind. But with you, I can be my whole self. I can be the real me. There’s no part that I have to hide or try to contain. I can be every inch of Mercedes and that’s… that’s really special to me, Quinn. I’m not sure if I’m _ your _ best friend. Only you know the answer to that. So I can’t say that _ we _ are best friends. But you are totally and completely _ my _best friend.”

After she finishes her speech, I can’t explain how I feel but I’ll try. It’s like someone opened me up and started a fire. They lit a candle that has long since burned out. And I’m starting to feel warm again. Fuzzy, all over. It starts at my feet then works its way up until I’m toasty all over. It’s a wonderful feeling. One that I never thought I would feel ever again.

“You _ are _ mine,” I reply as I lay my head on her shoulder. _ I can definitely tell her… I can definitely spit it out. “Hey Mercedes, I’m in love with Rachel! I can say it… she’s safe… _“You know the deal with Rachel and me… it’s a little complicated because I think I might —“

“I never want to drive through another parking lot on this campus ever again,” Rachel’s voice cuts through me and Mercedes’ moment as if on cue. It’s like we’re in a TV show or a movie and the director just told her to come in and cut me off before I can reveal my big important lesbian secret to Mercedes and I’d be lying if I said I was disappointed. I’m kind of relieved that I didn’t have to tell Mercedes what I planned on telling her… “I had to park like a mile down the street!”

Mercedes laughs, “Hey Rach.”

She sits down next to me and folds her jacket across her lap and flings her hair over her shoulder and suddenly I feel like I can’t breathe. She’s so close that our elbows are touching and it feels like a wave of electricity is traveling through both our bodies. Her jeans are light and white-washed. They have rips in them at both the knees and her feet look comfortable and small stuffed into black Bearpaw boots. Her shirt is so white that it hurts to look at it for too long, and the black and red camisole underneath adds just the right amount of school spirit. Her scarf is red and black plaid, her signature print, and her hair looks as if she just recently straightened it. It’s silky and bone-straight and the lights make it shine. Her eyes glisten under the lights too and I notice that she used just the right amount of mascara tonight. She took my breath away, literally. I can’t believe she’s human and she’s sitting right next to me…

“Hey Quinn,” she nods my way and quickly focuses on the field. “So when does it start? When do I get to yell ‘home run!’?”

Me and Mercedes both just look at her, but for different reasons. I’m still trying to figure out how one person can be so effortlessly pretty and Mercedes can’t believe she just said “home run” at a football game. 

Rachel notices Mercedes’ confused look at swallows a laugh before saying, “That was a joke.”

“You look really pretty!” I spit out and my jaw drops immediately after I say it. _ Oh my god, did I really just…? Oh my god, oh my god! Damage control! Damage control! Does she think I meant it? I mean I did, but does she think I did? What does she think? Does she think… oh my god. Oh my GOD. I can’t believe I said that! _“I mean compared to how you usually look,” I clean it up a bit but try to still remain nice. “You look great tonight. The… the scarf is a nice touch and your hair… you just… look great,” I mumble and hang my head. I’m so embarrassed.

“Thank you, Quinn,” she says with a slight, honest smile. 

Before I can wallow in my own embarrassment for too long, Tina clambers down the bleachers with her hands full of nachos and Mountain Dew. She sits back down beside Rachel again and I mentally thank her for saving me from an awkward moment inside of my head.

“Ooh, what’d you get good?” I try my best to sound interested in her food and it must work, because she reaches across Rachel’s lap with her boat of tortilla chips and cheese goodness. 

“Have some! There’s no way I’m going to finish all of these myself.” She offers. 

I already made myself seem interested and I’m still feeling a little awkward from telling Rachel that she looks pretty, so I decide to really commit and take a nacho. Just one, though. 

“Okay so,” I say, mouth full of chip and still chewing. “Ten bucks says we lose. Anybody wanna bet me?” 

“Oh, I’m not losing ten bucks on that. Have you seen our football team?” Mercedes laughs. 

“The kicker sprained his ankle…” Tina starts. “On the sidelines.”

We all laugh like it’s the funniest thing we’ve ever heard, and it feels so… filling. Like after you haven’t eaten for a while. Like your stomach is growling and hunger is gnawing at your entire being. And then you take that first bite of whatever it is you’re eating and you suddenly feel like the world has aligned again. It’s filling. Laughing with them. I filled a void in my soul. 

In seventh grade, my teacher made us read that book about that kid who lives in Pittsburgh and writes letters to a friend that we never get to learn the name of. I forget the name of the book but they made it into a movie with the girl from Harry Potter in it and the main character’s name was Charlie. He was in real bad shape, that kid. Mentally, I mean. But he finds this group of friends who heal him and by the end of the book, he’s riding through a tunnel with his friends and he has the windows down and he’s standing up with his hair blowing all in the wind and he says that he feels “infinite.”

At twelve-years-old, I had absolutely no clue what he meant when he said that but I think now, four grades later and five years wiser, I finally know what that kid in that book meant.

Because I swear, I feel it too.

Rachel leans back and laughs with her entire body and Mercedes nudges Tina who falls into me and lays her head on my shoulder and laughter rocks my entire body and the four of us, interlocked like a chain, just crack up together. I feel like I can go on and on and on. Like I’m never going to end, like this world is mine to hold onto and cherish forever. I don’t ever see myself not laughing with them and that’s not lost on me. In this moment, I am infinite.

“You know, if someone would’ve asked me this time last year where I would be for next year’s homecoming, I never would have said this,” Rachel says as we’re still all coming down from the high of rich laughter. “I would have thought I’d be home with Kurt watching a stupid movie and lurking on Facebook while we watched all the cool kids have fun.”

“Yeah,” Tina shovels another nacho in her mouth and nods. “Yeah, me too. I never thought I’d be here either.” 

“And neither did I,” Mercedes shrugs. “I never thought I’d be here with you guys… with Quinn Fabray.”

“What?” I turn and face all of them just so I can see their faces because I feel like they’re telling some kind of joke here. Did none of them really think that we would ever be friends? _ Why would they feel like that… _“Guys, I’m not… I’m not all that great. Stop it.”

“You just don’t understand,” Tina starts. “At the beginning of high school, you were a… a goal, or whatever. You were the most amazing thing and the rest of us… I wasn’t even IN high school and heard about you.”

“You were the most popular girl in school, a cheerleader…” Mercedes picks up where Tina left off… 

“Prettiest girl in the entire school, too,” and Rachel finishes. “The rest of us just seemed so… normal compared to you.”

“How the mighty have fallen,” I mumble.

“What?” Mercedes says.

“Nothing,” I mumble again and look out onto the field as they prepare to start the homecoming ceremony. And just like that, the playful energy, the togetherness, the… _ infinity _between us disperses like our breath in the cold air. 

You know, a lot of the time I spent in therapy was taken up by trying to convince myself that I’m not a horrible person. Jessica really helped me to realize that a lot of the pain I inflicted on other people was brought on by the pain and hatred I felt for myself, because I wasn’t living honestly. Repression is what she called it.

But I don’t care how repressed I was, there’s no excuse for some of the things I said and did… and most of the things I said and did were done to these three… these three who are making me feel more alive than I’ve felt since I came home. How can I not feel like a horrible person? 

“You know what?” I ask them, breaking the silence between us that is only filled by the rap song playing over the speakers. All three of them give me their undivided attention and it makes me feel weird to have them looking at me like that, hanging onto every word I say. “Me either. If someone would have asked me last year where I would be for this year’s homecoming, I never would have thought I’d be here. With three of the most amazing friends a girl could ask for.” I let the smile tugging at my lips take over. “I may not be out there in a Cheerios uniform tonight, but I think I like this better. I like _ you guys _better.”

They all smile at the exact same time and it makes me smile too. And I’m right back to feeling infinite. 

“Aren’t you worried that hanging out with us is making your status go down?” Rachel teases. 

I grin. “The second I got pregnant, my status went down. The way I see it?” I look at Mercedes and Tina too, just so they know that I’m talking to all three of them. 

“You guys are just helping me bring it back up.”

* * *

* * *

“Are you sure your parents aren’t going to walk through this door?” Tina asks as she rips the plastic packaging of her costume open. “Like on a scale of 1-10, how sure?”

“I’m absolutely positive.” Mercedes steps into her stockings one foot at a time and tosses her flowy black hair over her shoulder. “They went to Cleveland to see my brother play basketball. They rented a hotel up there for the night and won’t be back until tomorrow morning, so we’re safe.”

“I can’t figure out if my buttcheek is supposed to go in this or if it’s supposed to drape over my head…” Rachel says as she loops her fingers in and out of black fishnet to untangle it. 

“Just look at the picture,” Mercedes holds up the packaging that her costume came into and studies it for a second. “I think it’s supposed to go over your boobs.”

“My… boo — WHAT? There is NO way I’m walking around in —“ 

“Just wear it over your bra,” I mumble for the first thing I contribute to this conversation. “You don’t have to take your bra off.”

I know I should probably do a bit more than just sitting here on the edge of Mercedes’ bed like I am, but it’s like my feet are glued to the floor. The party started already and we’re supposed to be leaving in half an hour to get there, but I can’t bring myself to do more than just sit. And pick at my nails. And stare at the ground. Because anything — and I do mean anything — sounds more appealing than getting undressed in front of them right now.

I know that if I don’t make a move soon and open up the Marshall’s bag that my costume is inside of, they’re going to start thinking that I’m weird. I mean, aren’t I though? Tina sits on the floor in front of the body mirror and teases her hair with a comb to get it just the right amount of frizzy. She wears nothing but a pair of leggings and a sports bra and even though she has rolls when she sits down, she doesn’t even acknowledge them or act like they exist. Mercedes twists from side to side in the mirror as she stands behind Tina and smiles at the way her sexy mermaid costume turned out. She just stripped down to her bra and underwear in front of us to put on her costume and she doesn’t even seem self conscious. Rachel still fights with the fishnet overlay of her costume, but as soon as she gets it all straightened out? She lays it across Mercedes’ bed and lifts her shirt over her head. She tosses it to the ground, too. Just like that. As if it’s a mere inconvenience.

Why can’t I be like that? Why can’t I be so effortlessly comfortable around my group of best friends? Why does the simple thought of me undressing in front of them make me want to run away and hide? I know they’re probably not looking at me. In fact, they won’t even bat an eyelash when I do get undressed. But still. They’re going to see me. Naked, but not completely. In the flesh. Something about being bare and exposed like that just doesn’t sit well with me.

_Maybe I could go change in the bathroom. _But if I do that, won’t I offend everyone? They all got dressed in front of me, and they all just admitted to idolizing me at the game. What kind of message does it send them if I hide off in the bathroom to dress like a skank? That I think I’m better than them? That I’m too good to undress and let them see my body? That’s not the message I want to send.

So I kick off my boots one at a time, slowly. And I stand up from Mercedes’ bed. And I focus on the unicorn stuffed animal on her dresser because his beady black eyes watching me isn’t as nerve wracking as my friends’ eyes watching me. I unbutton my jeans… 

And so does Rachel. She unbuttons them and pulls them down and steps out of them all in one motion like it's no big deal. 

And I don’t want to objectify her and I really don’t want to intrude on her personal space and invade her privacy by looking, so I turn around and think that the bathroom is sounding better and better by each passing moment. It’s sounding so much better, in fact, that I reach down and scoop up my Marshall’s bag and prepare my lips to say “I’ll be right back guys.” 

_ But how do you know that you’re…. gay? How do you know that for sure? How would you know that you are if you never really even looked? How do you know that you’re actually physically attracted to women if you’ve never looked at one naked? _

Instead of telling them that I’m going to go change in the bathroom, I dump my Marshall’s bag out on the bed and shake out its contents. One leg out of my jeans and then the other… I turn around, pretending like I’m only turning around so I can stuff my jeans back into the Marshall’s bag…

And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… sorry to all the feminists out there who fight to have their voices heard, who fight to let people know that our bodies are not just objects. I’m sorry… but I look. While I’m folding my jeans and stuffing them into the plastic bag and taking off my shirt…

I look at Rachel in her black bra and black underwear…

* * *

* * *

The last few days have been a blur, and I don’t quite feel like myself anymore. In fact, they’ve been so much of a blur that I can’t even begin to tell anyone how I ended up here. Here, sitting across from Bailey with my arms wrapped around my chest and my teeth clenched together because the tears rolling down my cheeks keep giving me the chills.

Bailey tilts her head to the side as if she’s watching a poor, naked little bird about to fly out the nest for the first time. Her eyes are filled with curiosity and maybe a little bit of sympathy. Her eyes make me feel like maybe I’m going to be okay. 

“Tell me about the party, Quinn.” she says in her usual soft tone.

I squeeze my jaw together and clench my teeth so hard that my head starts to ache. It’s not that I don’t want to tell her about the party, it’s just that I don’t know where to start.

“You don’t get to do this,” Bailey shakes her head at me. “You don’t get to call me on a Saturday for an emergency session and not tell me what led you to it. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“So tell me about the party.”

“...I don’t know where to start.”

“From the beginning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t panic. We are going to find out what happened at the party, so don’t feel cheated and think that I completely skipped it. We’re going to find out, in great detail, what happened at the party.


	18. Never Gonna Leave This Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is told partially in the past tense, because Quinn is telling the story of what happened at the party. The parts that are told in present tense are Quinn during her emergency therapy session, and Quinn during inpatient therapy. The events in this chapter follow four time periods: The party, the emergency therapy session, the night Beth was conceived, and Quinn‘s most intense inpatient therapy session.
> 
> Also: TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. There are descriptions of rape so please please use caution while reading.

* * *

* * *

  
  
I knew as I was watching her shimmy the black and red cupcake skirt up onto her hips that what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t look away. My eyes traced her fingers as they pulled up the zipper, watched them as they made sure the ruffles laid evenly. I remember thinking to myself just how soft her golden skin looked, thinking about how it would feel beneath my gentle fingertips. She tightened the corset around her waist with the gold ribbons and made her boobs squeeze together just enough for me to eye the beauty mark on the left one and I felt the heat swirling around at my core. It wasn’t until she pulled the red ruffled sleeves up onto her arms that I realized I was sweating.

Her hair, silky and flowy like a horse’s mane, cascaded down her back and stayed perfectly in place as she put the feathered hat on her head and I felt dizzy. It was like someone came in and shook the room but everyone stayed still except for me. She slipped her hair over her shoulders and I imagined my lips dragging along those shoulders. I imagined her on top of me, enveloping me, forcing me to take in the scent of her skin. And when I started imagining myself pulling every inch of that pirate costume off her perfect body, Tina gasped and made me jump completely out of my thoughts.

“Oh my God, Quinn,” she said and I felt the color drain from my face. And my stomach started to hurt. And my throat started to ache. Because I thought for sure that she had just caught me deep in the middle of a sick fantasy about Rachel.

“What?” I managed to choke out beyond feeling like I needed to vomit. I stood there, donning nothing but my bra and underwear, feeling totally naked. My powder blue bra had white polka dots on it with a bow in the middle and my underwear completely matched. There was the fabric covering the most intimate parts of my body, but I still felt totally exposed.

“You don’t even look like you had a baby!” Tina exclaimed and though deep down there was a piece of me that wanted to melt into a puddle in the middle of Mercedes’ bedroom floor, I was too relieved to truly react. “You don’t have any stretch marks or anything! Guys, look!” 

Rachel and Mercedes both turned to look at me and at first, I folded my arms across my abdomen to cover myself. But then I remembered that I was trying to blend in and not seem like I thought that I was better than them, so I hung my arms at my side and let them look. I even twisted to the side and looked down at myself to seem like I was admiring my body as well.

“Hm, yeah,” I mumbled, looking down at the parts of my butt that weren’t covered by my underwear.

“I told you, Quinn’s a freak of nature,” Mercedes shook her head and continued curling pieces of her hair. “She didn’t even go up a shirt size while she was pregnant.”

“How did you manage to get through the whole thing without even getting stretch marks, though?” Rachel asked me as she stepped into her thigh-high boots. “I sipped a milkshake once and five new ones popped up on my hips.”

“I slathered my body in cocoa butter from the second I found out until the doctors pulled her outta me,” I said coolly. “I probably used about ten tons over the course of eight and a half months. I didn’t get any on my stomach or my hips, but I did get some on my arms and my boobs.”

“Your boobs?” Tina raised her eyebrows as her eyes fell on my chest. I had to fight the urge to cover myself again.

Instead, I tore open my costume with my teeth and started shaking the tutu open. “Yeah,” I replied. “When the milk came in and stuff. I got some on my boobs. You can’t really see ‘em now because they’re on the parts that are covered, but yeah. I got some there. 

The entire room got quiet after I said that and I started to think that maybe I shared a little too much or seemed a little too invested in talking about boobs to appear straight. Tina wove two perfectly symmetrical braids into her hair and Mercedes adjusted her tail while Rachel zipped up her boots. Me? I stepped into the lime green sparkly dress that I bought and adjusted it to fit around my hips. It was like everyone was thinking the same thing but nobody wanted to say it. Nobody was brave enough to break the ice until Tina stood up, grabbed her cowgirl hat, and started fitting it around her head.

“You can ask,” I mumbled as I tried to figure out which way the Tinkerbell wings were supposed to go on my back. “I know you want to, so you can.”

“What was it like?” Tina spat with her back facing me. “Going through everything you went through last year, I mean. With getting like… kicked out and stuff?”

“Honestly?” I sat down on Mercedes’ bed again and rubbed a little bit of lotion onto my dry feet before I had to stuff them into the gold glittery slippers with the white puffball on top. “Honestly, it was mostly just weird not coming home every day. I mean, there were times when I didn’t know where I was going to eat or sleep and really, I was just lonely most of the time. But once I started staying here, with Mercedes, it wasn’t that bad. It was… it was nice, actually. I miss it.”

“So why’d you go home when you did?” Mercedes asked and for the first time, I realized that maybe me leaving the way I did affected her more than I thought it did. She tried to, but she couldn’t mask the hurt in her voice. “We said you could stay here as long as you needed to. My mom and dad were happy to have you. They even said that —“

“Because this isn’t my home, Mercedes,” I was firm with the way I said that but I wasn’t mean. At least, I don’t think I was. “As much as you and your mom and dad made me feel like it was, it wasn’t. It wasn’t my food to eat, it wasn’t my room to dirty up and it wasn’t my water to use. And I needed a mom. _ My _mom. I might have made a mistake by going back home when my mom offered me to, but I don’t regret going. I don’t regret taking that burden off you and your parents.” 

“You weren’t a burden, Quinn…” her voice trailed off like she suddenly remembered we weren’t the only two in the room, then she looked away from me. “You could have stayed.” 

The room got quiet again, so I just stuffed my feet into my Tinkerbell slippers and stood up again so I could use the mirror to fashion my hair up into a bun. Tina shrugged her shoulders into her cowgirl vest and Mercedes unplugged the curling iron. Rachel sat down on the bed next to where I was sitting and zipped up her boots. But after a moment of silence just long enough to be awkward, she looked up at me and said:

“You’re brave, though. I don’t know if I could have forgiven my parents for what yours did to you.”

“Yeah,” Tina nodded. “Me either.”

Hearing them say that wasn’t lost on me. I wanted to open up my mouth and thank them for even acknowledging that what happened to me last year was cruel on my parents’ part, but I was afraid that if I did, I would start crying and I didn’t know if I would ever stop crying. In that moment, I had never felt more loved. And seen. And heard. And accepted. It was a wonderful feeling, one that carried me and gave me some strength that I didn’t know I needed. I wanted to thank them, I swear I did.

But all that came out of my mouth was, “Here, lemme help you guys with your makeup.”

* * *

**“Do you think you’ll ever thank them?” Bailey asks. She sits across from me with one leg draped over the other and her notepad in her lap. Today’s session feels more relaxed than any other session and I can’t tell if whether it’s because she’s dressed in sweatpants when she’s usually in casual slacks, or if it’s because I feel more comfortable with her in general. Maybe it’s a combination of both.**

**“Don’t you think it’d be a bit weird if I did now?” I ask. “I can’t just randomly come out now that it’s over and be like ‘hey guys, thanks!’ That would be weird.”**

**“Not exactly. It seems like you’ve stumbled into a pretty great group of girlfriends. They seem accepting and I think you thanking them would go a long way, actually. You should consider it. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow but I think you should thank them eventually.”**

**“Yeah,” I sigh. “...I don’t think that’s what’s important, though.”**

**“Then what do you think is important?”**

**“I don’t know… nothing?”**

**“I think the fact that you have a support system now is pretty important.”**

**I shrug. She’s probably right. I mean up until this moment, I didn’t really think about the fact that Rachel, Mercedes and Tina are all considered to be my support system and I guess she’s right when she says that’s important because it is. It is important. But how can I think about that when my mind is still… everywhere?**

**“Can we continue?” Bailey asks. “Because I’m hearing everything you say but I’m still not understanding what led you to call me for an emergency session.”**

* * *

I had decided somewhere between us passing the cell phone repair shop and the ice cream parlor on our way here that I was going to stay sober tonight. Rachel and Tina were in the backseat of my car, headbanging to the song that Mercedes had put on and I was gripping the steering wheel to concentrate on not missing my turn to Puck’s house. I knew when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Rachel singing her heart out that I had to stay sober tonight for her.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to stay sober anyway. Jessica had told me while I was still in Pennsylvania that things were going to now be in baby steps for me and I knew that drinking and smoking weed was too big a step for me to conquer all in one night. I didn’t plan on drinking or getting high in the first place. But when I looked back and saw Rachel all carefree and laughing with Tina, I knew that she was going to want to drink tonight and have that experience and I wanted that for her. I wanted her to know what it’s like to go to a high school party and get horribly drunk, and I wanted her to do it in a responsible way. So that was the push I needed to officially decide to stay sober so someone could look after Rachel.

I knew as soon as we got there that I was way in over my head, though. Jessica said baby steps and I really did think that going to a party with my friends was a baby step. But I knew as soon as I saw what I was up against that I was terribly mistaken.

At least a dozen people all stood around in the front yard, passing a joint back and forth between them. We hadn’t even gotten inside the house yet and I could already hear the music pounding through the walls. One girl leaned over the porch railing and threw up into a garbage can while her boyfriend patted her on the back in the most loving way possible. I stopped at the door as Mercedes pushed it open, thinking about whether it was a good idea for me to go in there or not.

As soon as the door opened, a gust of smoke smacked all four of us in the face and I immediately knew that if I spent longer than three minutes inside that house, I would get a contact high. Still, I followed Rachel, Tina and Mercedes into the house and looked around.

The air was so thick with weed smoke that my eyes burned and I could hardly see, but I could estimate that there were about eighty people crammed inside Puck’s small house. I couldn’t move without accidentally elbowing someone here or there and couldn’t inhale without smelling perfume or body odor. I thought our costumes were slutty and skanky, but we looked like saints compared to some of the other girls. There were sexy maids and sexy referees, sexy princesses and sexy animals. Most girls wore absolutely nothing but a bra and underwear and slapped a pair of bunny ears on top of their heads to qualify as something but I think they’d be much more respectable had they just not worn anything at all. One guy from my English class held his girlfriend up against Puck’s kitchen island and the two of them made out so heavily that I started to think I was in the middle of a low-budget porno. 

Strobe lights flickered off the ceiling and empty beer cans littered the floor. The bowls that once contained potato chips and pretzels now only had crumbs in them and the only bowl left full was one full of Sour Patch Kids. I turned around to Rachel, Tina and Mercedes to ask them if they wanted me to grab them a beer from the cooler on the floor, but they were gone. Almost as if the three of them had disappeared into the puffs of weed smoke around me. 

“Rachel?! Tina?! Mercedes?!” I called out even though I knew they wouldn’t be able to hear me because the music was deafeningly loud.

I looked around, mumbling meaningless apologies under my breath every time I bumped into someone, and made it to the back door. I poked my head outside and let the fresh air sting my cheeks because I didn’t realize just how hot I was inside that house until I wasn’t in it anymore. I shuffled out the door, adjusted my Tinkerbell dress, and looked around the backyard for them.

My mind felt a little hazy, but I knew it was just because I was inhaling so much weed. I was no stranger to being high because I had been high at least three other times prior to this night, but it still took me by surprise because I hadn’t put a joint to my lips at all. Contact highs are a real thing. I found a table to lean up against and took a breath, hunched over. I remember wanting to cry because Puck’s house isn’t that big and I didn’t know how in the world I’d managed to lose three people. 

“Nice ass, Fabray!” A guy whistled at me and when I whipped around to see who it was, he was gone. 

I pulled my dress down a little further and sat in an empty lawn chair because obviously if I stood around in this skimpy lime green thing, boys were going to stare. I grabbed a water from the cooler next to my feet and twisted the cap off before taking a sip. I felt my contact high wearing off and part of me was grateful that my sobriety was returning, but a bigger part wished it wouldn’t wear off at all because for the first time since I’d been home from treatment, my mind was completely silent when I was high.

I sighed and took another sip of my water, then stood back up. I had to find Rachel, at least. I wanted to make sure she was being responsible and not getting too drunk. I really wanted to make sure that nobody was trying to hurt her.

Back inside the house, it seemed like the amount of people had actually doubled somehow. I bullied my way through the crowd of drunk teenagers and found my way back to the kitchen island. I guess I was hoping that maybe Puck had put out more chips and pretzels because I was actually sort of starving, but it didn’t surprise me to see that he hadn’t. I reached for the bowl of Sour Patch Kids instead, but before I could take some, I heard, “Is Rachel here with you?”

I turned around again and was met with Finn. His face was painted green and his brown t-shirt had rips all scattered about. His hair was standing up on all ends and his jeans were dirty and I thought he made a very convincing Frankenstein’s monster. He clutched a red Solo cup and wore a goofy grin that I wanted to slap off his face.

“What?” I asked as if I hadn’t heard him. I stood on my tiptoes to get closer to his level so I could hear him better and he bent a little to get closer to mine.

“Is Rachel here with you?” he asked again, louder this time.

“...What’s it matter to you?” I asked.

I don’t know why but when he asked about her, something inside my brain just snapped. That something made my body feel hot and made my legs start to shake. I felt like I wanted to yell at him to leave her alone, to tell him that she was mine now and he had treated her badly so he lost her and he can’t have her back. But of course, I didn’t say any of that. I just waited for his response.

“I was just wondering if she came and since the two of you suddenly seem to be butt-buddies now, I figured you’d know,” he replied. 

“Yeah,” I nodded because I just didn’t want to seem like I was as obsessed with Rachel as I actually am. “She’s here. With me, Mercedes and Tina. But I don’t know where. We split up.” 

I grabbed a few Sour Patch Kids from the bowl on the island and shoveled them into my mouth. Finn and I stood side by side in silence for a few moments, but it wasn’t awkward. In some ways, I see a lot of myself in Finn. One way we’re alike is how we both like to just watch people sometimes. I knew we were watching the same people, because we both laughed when a boy from the football team took a body shot off of Brittany, and Santana’s face turned red. I think we laughed at that because we were thinking the same thing — that Santana’s face being red really fit her already fitting devil’s costume. 

“I’m gonna go grab a couple beers from outside. You want one?” Finn asked.

“No, I’m fine,” I shouted loud enough for him to hear me. “I don’t wanna get too sloppy tonight. I’m gonna go see if I can find Rachel and the girls.” 

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged and walked to the door. 

As soon as he was gone, I made my way through the groups of people again and headed for the living room to see if maybe the girls went in there. If they weren’t outside and they weren’t in the living room, then I planned on checking the basement next.

“Whew,” someone called out from behind me and I froze because I knew who that voice belonged to and I guess maybe I thought I could somehow make it through the night without seeing him. “Damn girl, you’re wearing the hell outta that costume.”

I turned around slowly, the way people always do in the movies. You know how everything gets kind of blurry and intense the moment the protagonist finally confronts the antagonist? And the music gets kind of muffled? And everything around is jumbled? So that the lights and the people all turn to giant blobs? And the cameras zoom in on the girl’s face?

He lifted the white Hannibal Lecter mask away from his face and I felt my stomach lurch. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled honestly at me and looked me from head to toe. His teeth looked sharp when he grinned, like a bear about to attack its prey. His mohawk was flat and sweaty and underneath the jumpsuit to his costume, his muscles were barred. He raised his eyebrows and I did absolutely nothing. I stood there.

“Of course you look even better out of it,” he winked at me. 

I tried to take a step back and stumbled a bit, probably because I was still getting a contact high, and just smiled at him.

I smiled at him. Can you believe that?

I smiled.

* * *

**“Why do you think you smiled?”**

**“I dunno,” I shrug and wipe a pesky tear that fell from my eye. “Because I didn’t know what else to do?”**

**“Our bodies respond to trauma in very unusual ways. Take me, for example. When I was a little girl, I laughed at my father’s funeral.”**

**“You what?”**

**“I laughed, I did. Hysterically, too. I went up, saw him lying in the casket and completely lost it. My mother was mortified but I couldn’t help it. I just laughed until I couldn’t laugh anymore.”**

**Hearing that makes me feel a bit better. I don’t think me smiling at Puck is exactly the same thing, but it does help to know that I wasn’t acting completely crazy by smiling at him the way I did.**

**“Sometimes our bodies respond to trauma in unusual ways. You smiling at Noah was just a knee-jerk reaction. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”**

**“Okay.”**

**“Okay?”**

**“Okay.”**

**“...So what happened after that?”**

* * *

I backed away from Puck and almost fell when I did because I was so dizzy. My ears were ringing yet everything was silent. My eyes felt like I was crossing them, but they were perfectly straight. My body felt like it was being crushed repeatedly but I was whole. I had to get away from him, I had to. So the first thing I noticed from the corner of my eye were the steps that led up to his bedroom, and I ran for them. I ran like my life depended on it and even now that it’s over, I still do feel like my life did depend on it.

I was high, I realized that once I stumbled into his bedroom. The smile I gave him probably came from that fact, and I felt totally calm and relaxed. I wanted to laugh at nothing and wanted to grin at everything. I felt happy, on cloud nine. But I knew that I needed to come down, so I shut the door and sat down on his bed. I looked around at the Playboy posters and the Cleveland Browns trading cards.

I looked at the floor and felt my lips tug up into a smile as the ash gray carpet beneath my feet swirled and changed colors in tune with my breathing. One moment, the carpet was gray. The next moment, it was blue. It changed each time I breathed and it felt good to control something. The room started to wobble the way it does when you’re in a carnival funhouse and I felt myself getting nauseous, so I laid down. His sheets smelled like him and his bed was firm, but comfortable.

As I looked up at the drop-ceiling tiles, they caved in… then curved back out. Like the carpet, the ceiling tiles changed every time I breathed and I felt myself laughing even though I couldn’t hear it. I felt nothing but everything at the same time. When I lifted my arms up, I stared at my fingers. I opened my hand, then closed my hand. And the shadows of my fingers were fuzzy and yellow. Blotches of bright green and purple flew around my head like butterflies in a meadow and when I closed my eyes, they disappeared.

When I closed my eyes, everything disappeared. And I started to remember the last time I was in this room…

_ “I’ve never done this before,” I whisper and feel nauseous at the smell of my own breath. It smells fruity and strong and makes the headache behind my right eye a little bit stronger. _

_ He sits up and tosses his shirt onto the floor. I think I think that he’s… sexy? He has really nice abs and a really strong looking body and he could protect me if I needed him too because he has muscles. Big muscles. But he could also crush me… _

_ “Really? Never?” His voice doesn’t sound as slurred as mine. _

_ “N-never.” _

** _“Your words were slurred, Quinn. You couldn’t speak coherently, but he could. Couldn’t he?” Jessica squeezes my hands. “Couldn’t he?”_ **

_ “I’m cool with that,” he smiles at me. “I’m glad I get to be your first.” His lips are harsh against mine and we kiss again. _

_ When I talk to Santana about sex, she says that it’s supposed to make you feel warm down there. And tingly. Like a feeling that just keeps building and building until you can’t take it anymore and you just HAVE to have that person. I don’t feel that… is there something wrong with me? _

** _“You didn’t have those feelings toward him. When you were kissing, you didn’t feel that way. Did you?” Jessica keeps talking._ **

_ Our tongues swirl together like they’re dancing or something and all I can taste is the strawberry mango wine coolers I drank. He doesn’t stop kissing me, even as he leads me into laying down. His bed smells like him, and it’s firm, but it’s not uncomfortable. His eyes are closed while we kiss, but mine are not. The Playboy posters plastered on his walls stare down at me like they know what I’m doing. And it’s almost like the Cleveland Browns trading cards look at him and smile like they’re proud. _

_He lies down on top of me and I feel like I can’t breathe, so I turn my head to the side. I turned my head to the side and broke our kiss, but he just puts his lips on my neck instead. His lips are cold and very very wet. Sloppy, they make me feel gross. I look at the football poster on the back of his door and try to breathe even though he’s crushing me._

_ “You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles into my neck. _

_Really? Does he really think so?_

_ “Yeah?” I ask. _

_ “Totally. Hottest one on the Cheerios,” he holds himself up in a push-up position over me and smiles at he looks down at me. “Your eyes… and those lips… god.” _

_ He thinks I’m beautiful. Not hot, not sexy, not pretty. But beautiful. He thinks I’m beautiful… he doesn’t see the flab beneath my vest or the cellulite beneath my skirt. He thinks I’m beautiful… wow..._

_ He moves his hands below my waist and I feel the fabric of my skirt fly apart when he undoes the button. _

_ “Wait,” I squirm underneath of him and put my hands on his shoulders. “Maybe we shouldn’t.” I felt hazy as I said that and I hope he can understand me… _

_ “You need another drink?” He reaches over on the side of his bed and hands me another glass bottle. _

_ “N-no,” I shake my head. “T-tell me again?” _

_“What, that you’re beautiful?” he grins. “You are. So beautiful.”_

** _“You’re not stupid for believing that,” Jessica stops squeezing my hands and strokes them with her thumbs for a moment because I just can’t stop crying. “You had a very vulnerable day. You weren’t stupid for believing him when he said that and you weren’t weak for needing to hear that.”_ **

_ His lips go back to my neck and his hands pull at my skirt until it’s down around my ankles. He tosses it to the floor and uses his hips to force my legs apart. _

_I don’t know if I really want this..._

_ “S-Slow down,” my voice comes out in a tone that I can barely recognize. I had to force it out, too. Like peanut butter stuck in the back of my throat that I have to force up. “Wait, slow down.” _

_ It feels like he has a million hands. Two on my waist, two on my chest, two between my legs, two holding my arms. When did he grow so many hands? _

_ And when did the room start spinning? I haven’t felt this way since I was eight and Dad took Frannie and me to a carnival in downtown Lima. I went into a funhouse and they had a room inside of it that kept spinning and spinning and I remember feeling so out of control and like I’d never get out of that room that I sat down and cried until Daddy came inside to get me. It’s all whirlly and spinny again and it doesn’t get any better when I close my eyes and I wonder if maybe I can cry and have my Daddy come pick me up again. _

_ I used to think that Mommies and Daddies had special radar inside of them. Special radar that can sense when their children are crying and they need to come to the rescue. I believed that for a really long time. I believed that for so long that in fact, tonight is the first night I start to believe that it’s not true. Because I’ve been crying since he unbuttoned my skirt ten minutes ago and my daddy hasn’t come to save me yet. _

_ “Wait, wait, w-wait,” I whisper and my breath still smells fruity. _

_ “You have to relax, okay? You really have to relax. It’s going to hurt if you don’t.”_

_ “I’m not sure if we should do this.” _

_ “Nobody’s gonna know.”_

_ “Can we just kiss a little more? I’m not ready yet, I just wanna kiss you some more.” _

_ “It’s a little late to go back to that.” He grabs the rim of my underwear and starts to pull a little before sighing. “Come on. You gotta let me in…” _

_ I don’t feel like this is happening to me anymore… I feel like… like… like I’m some other part of myself that I didn’t know existed? And the part of me that was here just a second ago is gone now? The part of me that was just here a second ago ran away and hid… and I don’t know where she’s at. She’s somewhere crying and I can’t get her to come out and be here anymore. _

_ “Do you have a condom?” It’s my voice that said that, but I didn’t even feel the words come out of my mouth. _

_ “You have to trust me.” _

_ From the corner of the room, I watch myself. I don’t feel it when he yanks my underwear off so forcefully that they rip, and I’m not there when he makes his first thrust into my body. It’s not actually happening to me because if it was, wouldn’t I feel it? _

_ Things like this don’t happen to me. You know what happens to me? _

_ I get picked as captain of the Cheerios. I get picked as prom queen and homecoming queen. I get picked as class president. I score high on my SATs and get into Princeton or Harvard or Yale. I get to give a speech at graduation because I’m valedictorian. I get to major in something really cool at college like business or law. And I get to make a lot of money. I get to have a house with a few kids and a white picket fence and a golden retriever. I get to live until I’m 89 and die happily of old age. _

_Things like this don’t happen to Quinn Fabray, and that’s not Quinn Fabray that I’m looking at right now._

** _“Quinn, I’m going to tell you this because I don’t think anybody else has. I am so sorry this happened to you,” Jessica pulls me close for a hug and I know she’s violating all kinds of therapist rules right now, so I push her away._ **

** _“You don’t have to be sorry because that wasn’t me. That didn’t happen to me.”_ **

** _“Quinn, I —“_ **

** _“It didn’t happen to me. It wasn’t me. That was someone else.”_ **

_ The girl on the bed underneath of Puck gets the chills when her tears dribble down to her ears. She puts her hands on his chest and tries to push him away from her but he’s too big and I think he takes it as a sign that he’s doing well. _

_ I’ve heard that happens sometimes. Santana told me once that sometimes it feels so good that you pull away and want to stop because you just can’t take it anymore and I think he thinks that’s what’s happening. The poor girl. I should probably go over there and help her instead of sitting in the corner of this stupid room just watching him hurt her over and over and over again but I can’t. It’s like I’m stuck. So all I can do is watch. _

_Watch as he holds her arms above her head and keeps moving his waist. Listen as he grunts. She’s lost underneath of him now, she’s not even moving. I think she might even be dead. Her legs are spread apart, feet hanging off either side of the bed. And she doesn’t move… I don’t even think she’s blinking…_

** _“Sweetie, it’s very common to dissociate when you’re going through something traumatic. Honey, what you’re describing is something we call an ‘out of body experience.’ Our minds don’t know how to react to the trauma and so we dissociate in order to cope. We detach ourselves… because what happened is so traumatic that we just…”_ **

** _I shake my head so hard that the tears rattle off my cheeks. “No, that wasn’t me… it wasn’t me. I… I would’ve felt it. I would’ve stopped it. I wouldn’t have let that happen. It doesn’t happen to me. That wouldn’t happen to me. It wasn’t me… it wasn’t me…”_ **

_ I think the girl on the bed with Puck is dead. I think I might have just witnessed a murder. And while I want nothing more than to just stay where I am in the corner by his closet, I need to know if he just killed this poor girl. _

_ So I tiptoe over to the bed and hold my breath so he can’t hear me breathing. He grunts one last time and his movements get all jerky and then he rolls off her body and lies on the pillow with his hands behind his head. She is still. Perfectly still. Almost like a statue. _

_ “That was great,” he chuckles. _

_ I lean in a little closer so I can get a better look at the girl, just so I can see if she’s breathing. _

_Her eyes have tears in them. Hazel eyes that look more green than anything but could pass as brown if she were wearing a certain color. And golden blonde hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. She kind of looks like me a little, but she looks… smaller than me. Weaker than me. I am stronger than she is. She is not me._

_ But if she’s not me… then why does she have the same beauty mark beneath her left ear as me? _

** _“It was me…” I whisper. “...He raped me?”_ **

** _“I think you know the answer to that,” Jessica brushes my hair away from my forehead. “You do.”_ **

I rolled off the bed and fell to my knees because I still couldn’t stand up properly. On my knees, I crawled over to the garbage can in the corner of Puck’s room — the same garbage can I threw my ripped underwear into that night — and gripped the sides with my hands.

** _“But I didn’t say no. I didn’t scream, I didn’t fight him off…”_ **

** _“You were drunk and he was not. There are multiple ways to say ‘no’ without uttering the word. You didn’t give consent and if you did, coerced consent is NOT valid consent. What happened to you was rape, and it was wrong.” _ **

And I didn’t have to put my fingers into my mouth or think of something gross to do what I did next. I opened my mouth, and all the contents of my stomach came spilling out.

* * *

**“Quinn, please take a deep breath. You need to calm down. Sit back down.”**

**“I—I can’t,” I stand up and hold onto the chair as I try to do what she says and breathe. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I’m so hot…” I take my sweatshirt off so I’m in nothing but my raggedy tank top and try my hardest to breathe like Bailey says I need to. “I can’t breathe, I think I’m dying, I think I’m…”**

**“You’re having an anxiety attack, Quinn. I need you to sit down, okay? Sit down. Sit down and tell me what happened after you threw up.”**

**“Is this normal!?”**

**“You just relived the memory of being raped, it’s very normal. You just need to calm down and focus on what you’re doing. You’re telling me about the party, remember? What happened after you threw up?”**

* * *

I had thrown up a million times before that time but I had never felt that different. Maybe I felt different throwing up that time because I didn’t actually force myself to do it, but I think I felt so differently because it felt like everything I had ever felt during that night was now in the trashcan. Throwing up that time felt like I was expelling some kind of poison from my body. It felt like all the shame and pain and embarrassment that Puck had put me through came out of me and now it was in the trashcan. And I felt lighter. 

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and started to take the bag out of the trashcan but before I could, the door flung open. And though I just threw up and thought that by doing that I would feel a bit better, I was still too weak to run and hide or say that I was already in there, so I just crawled to the corner of the room and stayed quiet.

My head was still spinning and my eyes still felt heavy, so I stayed quiet with my head slumped against the wall. I was quiet even as I realized the people who barged in and interrupted my high throw up session were Brittany and some guy I’d only seen once before on the football field. 

The two of them laid on the bed where I just laid and started going at it. I started to crawl over to the closet so I didn’t seem weird by watching them do whatever it was they intended to do, but I was still a bit weak, so I just stayed there and watched and I was glad that the room was dark. Brittany straddled the guy and before I knew it, her top was off and on the floor.

But before they could take anything further, the bedroom door flung open again and this time in walked The Devil in Disguise. Or Santana, as she’s more commonly known.

* * *

**“Are you sure what you inhaled was just marijuana?” Bailey asks. She’s trying to deflect the situation because I’m still calming down from my panic attack, and I think it’s working.**

**“I’m just saying,” she continues. “I’ve been contact high before but it’s never made me as tired and weak as it made you.”**

**“I’m getting to that.”**

* * *

I don’t really remember what Brittany and Santana said to each other, all I know is that they had a big argument and it ended with Brittany and the guy leaving. Santana sat down on the bed and started to cry and that’s when I decided that I should try to leave again. I picked myself up off the floor and accidentally bumped into Puck’s clothes basket, which made Santana look up. She squinted to see me through the darkness and seemed angry when she realized it was me.

“What the hell are you doing in here? Were you here the whole time?!” she yelled at me.

“I, uh,” I tried to talk for the first time in a long time and realized that it was hard for me to sift through my brain and find the words. Instead, I just laughed. 

“Oh my god, are you high?!” 

“Maaaaaybe,” I laughed a little more and sat on the bed beside her because I felt like I was going to fall over. “I was feeling woozy so then I came to lay down but then something maaaaagical happened and now you’re here,” I laughed.

“...You ate the Sour Patch Kids, didn’t you?” she smiled like she was amused.

“I ate a few, yes.”

“....Yeah, those were soaked in acid. You’ll be okay in about an hour.”

* * *

**“...So you accidentally ingested LSD?” Bailey has a slight smile on her face and I can tell that she wants to laugh but doesn’t know if it’s appropriate if she does.**

**“I’ll never eat another Sour Patch Kid again,” I bust out in serious laughter which makes her bust out in serious laughter and before I know it, I feel normal again. I don’t feel like I just had a panic attack.**

**“Sounds like it was an eventful party.”**

**“And I’m not even done telling you about it yet.”**

* * *

I laid down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling again, which wasn’t changing tiles anymore. Santana laid down beside me and both of us were silent, deep in thought. Though I felt better after throwing up, I still had a little bit of courage left inside of me. So I turned my head toward Santana and said, “You okay?” 

“What do you mean?” she turned toward me too and the two of us locked eyes. For the first time, I could see a little bit of pain behind her eyes and I started to understand her just a little.

“I mean what just happened. Are you okay? That must’ve been pretty… shitty to walk in on.”

“You mean to walk in on my best friend making out and having sex with a loser? Yeah, pretty shitty.”

“You and Britt are just friends?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I just mean…” I sighed. “Look, you can’t really get mad at her. She’s technically single.”

“It’s whatever. I can’t make her love me, you know? I want her to. I want her to with all my heart but I can’t make her do something she doesn’t want to do.” 

“How do you know she doesn’t want to be with you?”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant… I meant I can’t make her be with me if she’s not ready to.” 

“Well I don’t get it,” I shrugged. “If you want to be together then just be together.”

“It’s not that easy. It’s… it’s just hard, Quinn. You don’t understand. You’ll never understand what it’s like.”

“I do, though,” I whispered. “Keeping the secret inside of you is exhausting but it’s not fair to the other person. I know it’s easier to hate Brittany but you can’t get mad at her. You can’t hate her because she doesn’t even know what she did wrong. Just because you’re not ready to flaunt it yet doesn’t mean that she has to keep it inside, too…”

“...It sounds like you speak from experience.” 

“I can just relate in some way,” I explained.

And then, before I even had a moment to process what the hell was happening, Santana sat up. And she leaned in. And she tilted her head. And she kissed me. And while that by itself was enough to surprise anyone… what surprised me even more is that…

I closed my eyes and kissed her back.


	19. Broken Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some mature language in this chapter and steamy situations, so just be advised. Enjoy!

* * *

* * *

**  
On my way back from the bathroom, I tighten the drawstrings on my sweatpants and adjust my t-shirt. We paused for a bathroom break and it wasn’t until I looked at the clock on the wall above the sinks that I realized I had been talking to Bailey for one full hour. That is the longest I’ve ever talked to her, even if I’m counting my very first session with her. It’s weird, because it doesn’t even feel like we’ve been talking for an hour. **

**The office is sleepy on this Saturday evening, with only me, Bailey and the receptionist in the building, so I don’t bother shutting the door behind me. As I sit back down, Bailey shoves her hand down into the open bag of Doritos on her desk and stuffs a couple into her mouth before turning the bag towards me. She writes in her notebook while she chews and for the first time since I started seeing her, I look at her closely.**

**She’s not ugly. Her eyebrows are thin and perfectly shaped, and they match her thin brunette hair perfectly. Her eyes are wide-set and round and they sit just above a thin nose with large nostrils. Her lips are almost too full for her jaw, and her chin boasts a deep dimple. In a way, she reminds me of an older version of my sister. My beautiful, always put together and perfectly poised sister. The fact that Bailey sucks some Dorito crumbs off her fingers makes me grin, because that’s not something that Frannie would ever do.**

**“You’re welcome to some,” she swallows and picks up her Yeti cup. “There’s water in that mini fridge behind you, too.”**

**“Thanks,” I say as I reach for a small handful of chips. “I wasn’t expecting to be here this long, I should have packed myself a lunch.” I take a small bite of the chip, careful not to look like an overgrown pig in front of her by shoveling them all in my mouth the way I would normally do. “Sorry for keeping you so long.”**

**“It’s no deal,” she shrugs. “I clear my schedule for two hours when someone needs an emergency session, so we’re nowhere near our time limit.”**

**“Do you get calls for emergency sessions a lot?” I ask.**

**“Sometimes,” she closes her notebook and takes her glasses off. “I’m really glad you called me, Quinn. I never expected you to, but I’m glad you did. It actually feels like we’re getting somewhere, doesn’t it?”**

**“It does, I guess.”**

**“Do you want to keep going?”**

**“I forget where I was,” I eat my last chip and dust my hands off on my sweatpants.**

**“You and Santana. Tell me, what was it like to kiss her? How was that?”**

**“...Honestly? It felt… different.”**

**“Different? Different how?”**

* * *

I tilted my head to the side so our noses didn’t bump and parted my lips just enough to let her tongue inside. And her mouth, it tasted sour. Like maybe she had eaten something salty just moments before we started to kiss, but I still found it strange because it was the first time I even noticed how a kiss tasted. And even though she kissed me hard like she was angry, her tongue, it was soft. And gentle the way it explored the corners of my mouth.

Her fingertips grazed my jawline but only for a minute because they continued up the side of my face until they curled in between my golden locks of hair. I felt my Tinkerbell bun come undone and got chills up my spine when my hair came tumbling down. I remember thinking that she must be inhuman or something because I didn’t feel the breath from her nostrils against my skin, and she didn’t pull away from me so she must not have been breathing.

She kissed me like she was hungry and like she needed even more than I could give her, and I just remember wanting to keep up.

She wasn’t who I wanted to kiss, I remembered that in an instant and my eyes fluttered open. Every inch of my being wished that she was someone else, but even though she wasn’t, it still felt different to kiss her. Different in the most literal sense of the word, too.

Kissing her was taking the earmuffs off.

My whole life, I had gone through the world existing with nothing but muffled sounds. Birds would chirp all around me and rain would beat on the windowpane. Mr. Schuester would turn the music up and we would all sing. And all of those sounds — the beautiful music of the world around me — were dull. And they had been that way for as long as I could remember, so I never knew that I wasn’t hearing at 100%.

Not until I kissed Santana.

I kissed her and the earmuffs came off and suddenly, the word burst into life. I could hear clearly and everything came together and this part of me that I never knew was missing was suddenly found. The world made sense and after all that I went through, I realized that there was nothing wrong with me.

She wasn’t the person I wanted to kiss, but goddamn she made my world make a little more sense and from that moment on, I knew I could never kiss another boy and feel the same way. I always thought that kissing another girl would feel wrong. I never thought that it would feel this right.

* * *

**“Can we pause here for a second?” Bailey asks.**

**“Uh, sure,” I nod my head. “But I’m not done.”**

**“I know, I know. I just have one small question.”**

**“Go ahead and shoot.”**

**“Are there any feelings for Santana, by any chance?”**

**“No,” I say firmly and very matter-of-fact. I would be lying if I said I didn’t know that question was coming. I expected that, and it’s a question that I asked myself after the kiss. And after much consideration and being completely honest with myself, the answer is a very positive no. I have no romantic feelings whatsoever for Santana. “I… I kinda wish she wasn’t my first girl kiss. But I am grateful that she did what she did. I’m grateful that she kissed me. Because if she didn’t, I don’t think I would have ever known how right it felt to kiss a girl.”**

**I bite my bottom lip and feel the tears sting my eyes but I’m determined to keep them in. Still, I look up at Bailey and meet her eye. And I take a deep breath before I ask the question that I’ve been wrestling with since last night.**

**“...Do you think I’m a bad person?”**

**“Why would you ask me that, Quinn? Of course I don’t think you’re —“**

**“Because I used her. Santana, I mean. She was hurting and I just… used her.” I blink once and the tears come rolling down my cheeks.**

**“Used her in what way?”**

* * *

Her hands were all tangled in my crunchy hair-sprayed hair as her tongue darted in and out of my mouth. The heat between us made droplets of sweat form on my nose and I didn’t want to be the weaker one between us two but I needed to breathe, so I pulled away for one split second. And our noses touched as our lips lingered just inches away from each other’s. She looked at me from underneath her long eyelashes as if she wanted to apologize for what just happened, and I looked at her the same way. And though she wasn’t the person that I wanted to kiss like that, there was still some part of me that didn’t want her to stop kissing me like that, so I leaned in for another.

And while her hands went back to being tangled up in my hair, I didn’t know what to do with my own. So I put them on her hips, and I think maybe that sent a message. Santana took my bottom lip between her teeth and bit just a little but enough to drive me wild. I wished so badly that she were Rachel.

And then I thought to myself that someday, I might actually kiss Rachel. Someday, I could possibly be in this situation with her — with someone who actually matters to me — and what if when that someday comes, I have no idea what I’m doing?

So I closed my eyes and pretended that she was Rachel. If she were Rachel… what would I do?

I would pull my lips away from hers and kiss the soft, velvety skin that is on her neck. And when I did that, she would suck in a sharp breath the way Santana had just done. I would kiss her jaw, then her neck, then back up to her jaw again, before settling on tasting her lips again. And she’d bite her bottom lip because she wanted me so badly, just like Santana was doing.

If she were Rachel and she put her hand on the inside of my thigh, I would have parted my legs the same way I did for Santana. And I would have taken a deep breath… and held it as her hand drew closer and closer to me.

I didn’t actually think it was going to happen, which sounds stupid, I know. We had made out for a solid five minutes and her thumb was stroking the inside of my thigh, so I should have known that something was going to happen. But I really didn’t. Not until her hand grabbed the middle fabric of my underwear and pulled it apart from my skin. And it happened so fast, the way her hand touched my flesh that I barely even processed it.

Still, the stupid part of my brain thought that was going to be the extent of it.

My mind was totally blank when her thumb stroked me as she kissed my neck and I didn’t know much, but I did know that I didn’t really want her to stop. Which, in hindsight, was a new feeling for me. I wasn’t used to wanting something sexual to happen, not as fully as I wanted what I allowed her to do. She started to kiss me again and I remember not kissing her back, but it still wasn’t because I didn’t want to do it. It was mostly because I just didn’t know what to think about what she was doing below my waist. I didn’t know what to think, but I knew that it felt different than the time I had sex with Puck because I was sure I wanted it this time whereas with Puck, I was mostly unsure.

I pulled my lips away from hers only when her index finger made a home inside of me, and still I never said stop. I remembered what she had told me before, about sex feeling like something building and building until you burst with anticipation, but I still didn’t feel that. I felt nothing, at first.

And then I felt everything.

Her single finger moving back and forth and the moan starting from deep in my gut and moving it’s way up to my throat. My breaths getting shallower and more sparse. My toes curling inside of my shoes. And just when I thought that maybe this is it — that mind-blowing, earth-shattering feeling everyone is always raving about — everything inside of me just went numb.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was to actually  _ like  _ what Santana was doing to me. I hated myself because I knew that I wouldn’t feel nearly as badly had it been a boy with his fingers crammed inside of me, but it wasn’t a boy. It was a girl — it was Santana — and I felt the shame wash over me like a tsunami tearing down an entire city. My jaw started to tremble because I realized that I wasted these glorious moments of good feelings on a girl who didn’t even matter and now, I was so ashamed and I would probably never do it again. I had about fifteen minutes of feeling nothing but pure bliss… and now I had nothing.

“Santana,” I mumbled her name and squirmed away for all of three seconds before she got the picture that she should stop.

That wasn’t lost on me, by the way. She stopped as soon as I even hinted at wanting her to and maybe that right there was the main difference between what happened with her and what happened with Puck.

“Was that not okay?” she looks at me with the utmost concern and I started to feel bad for making her stop.

I wanted to tell her that it was okay, that she wasn’t hurting me or doing anything wrong. I wanted to tell her that I just wasn’t into it the way she was into it and it didn’t quite feel that good for me and that I was just trying to be nice, but I couldn’t bring myself to say any of that. I couldn’t bring myself to tell those kinds of lies.

“I’m just…” my voice got softer as the sentence went on. “I’m not…” I couldn’t bring myself to lie, but I also couldn’t bring myself to say… well… anything.

Santana nodded her head so fast that her devil horns started to fall forward and I only realized that she was crying when I saw her tears glistening in the glow of the streetlights spilling through Puck’s blinds. “It’s fine, I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “You can go.”

I shifted my underwear back to their normal position and adjusted my Tinkerbell dress when I stood up. And I looked at her, wanting to say something but not actually able to. She sat on the edge of the bed with tears rolling down her cheeks and I just stared.

In hindsight, I wish I would have sat back down. I wish I would have wrapped my arm around her shoulders and told her that it was okay and that she didn’t need to cry. I wish I would have told her that I understood what she was going through — maybe not fully but at least partially.

I wish I would have told her that I’m gay too and it’s very confusing.

But I didn’t. I chickened out. And I left the room.

* * *

**“So yeah,” I look down and focus on the black speck of dirt on my yellow Converse sneakers. “I used her.”**

**“Well Quinn, that doesn’t make you a bad person.”**

**“Doesn’t it, though?” I tuck my hair behind my ears. “She was going through something, she was upset. And all I saw was a way to gain some experience and insight. All I saw was a way to… be sure that I’m… yeah.”**

**“You can say the word, you know.” She tilts her head and I raise my eyebrows at her as if I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Gay. Or lesbian. Or bisexual. You can say the word out loud. It’s not a dirty or forbidden word.”**

**I open my mouth to try out one of the words she just put out there but none of them feel right in my throat. I know she said they’re not dirty or forbidden words, but all of them feel like they are. Dirty. And forbidden.**

**“Or you don’t have to label yourself yet,” she offers. “...We’ll work up to that. So what happened after you left Santana?”**

**“I went back downstairs…”**

* * *

I had to step over empty beer cans and alcohol bottles all over the steps to climb down them and I had forgotten how strong the smell of weed was beyond the steps. Everything was loud again, the number of people had probably quadrupled by then, and there was still no sign or Rachel, Tina or Mercedes. I stepped over some girl hunched over in the hallway and made my way back to the kitchen to see if maybe I could find someone who might know where my friends went. I saw on the kitchen island that more bowls of chips and pretzels had been set out but after my experience with the Sour Patch Kids and still not feeling 100% myself, I decided I’d rather starve than take another chance.

I scanned the kitchen and there was no sign of my friends there, so I headed for the backyard but before I stepped out the door, I saw Brittany. She sat on the lap of another random guy and the two of them were busy making out while a group of people around them cheered it on and I suddenly remembered who I had left upstairs on the bed.

And I started to feel bad.

I know I wished that Santana was someone else, but I didn’t hate kissing her and letting her go to third base with me. I wished it was Rachel instead because at least then, the shame and regret that I felt would be worth it, but it’s not like I hated doing those things with Santana. And maybe I could have been what she needed in that moment. She was hurting, that was clear. And maybe she needed someone to take her mind off of Brittany, who was clearly the reason behind her hurt. If I was helping her in any way by kissing her... if I was easing the pain she was feeling by letting her do that to me... how could God hate me for it?

I swore that I wouldn’t drink, but I really needed at least a beer to take the edge off of my mood. Shame was starting to wear me down. It was like a heavy knit sweater that was making me uncomfortable and hot. So I plunged my hand deep into the ice and water and fished around for the certain kind of beer that I actually like.

And while I was fishing around in the water and ice, I came across the same strawberry mango wine cooler I had the last time I was drunk and in this house. And I started to remember how relaxed and at ease I felt when I was drunk that first time. And I started to realize that maybe I liked that feeling the first time because while I was drunk like that, it was the one time I wasn’t thinking about everything all at one time.

I grabbed the wine cooler instead of the beer in hopes of just having that feeling again.

And as I twisted the cap off the wine cooler and tossed it on the floor, someone bumped into me and made me spill it all over myself.

I wasn’t mad when they bumped into me, either. I mean, I actually kind of expected someone to bump into me. Puck lived in a two bedroom house and there had to have been about a hundred people all crammed inside, so it would have been kind of stupid to get mad at someone for bumping into me. But I did, however, turn around to see who it was just so I could be aware of who I should probably apologize to. And I immediately wished I hadn’t turned around.

Frankenstein Finn continued to stumble after running into me, but that’s not what made me wish I hadn’t turned around. What made me wish I hadn’t turned around was seeing the pirate hanging all over him, kissing all over him, making him stumble. Her feathered hat was gone and her sleeves were hanging off. Her corset was a little loose and her stockings had rips in them that weren’t there when we first got here. Her makeup was running and her skirt was a few inches higher. And she laughed hysterically like Finn had just told her the funniest joke except… he didn’t even say anything. She laid on him and kissed him and laughed and hiccuped and laughed some more.

And Finn just looked at me and said, “Sorry, she gets a little crazy when she’s drunk, apparently.”

I clenched my teeth together at the sight of his hand resting on her lower back. But I grinned at him and said, “It’s fine, let her have some fun!”

And I didn’t stick around long enough to hear what he said back, if he said anything back at all. I just walked as fast as I can to the back door and stormed outside so I could cool down because nothing — and I do mean NOTHING — had ever made me feel quite like that before.

It was like my vision had turned red. And anger was white-hot and it bubbled inside of me like the jets in a hot tub. It bubbled and brewed and made me shake. It made me shake so badly that all I could do to control it was throw my wine cooler down on the pavement and exhale when the glass shattered all over the place.

Why couldn’t that be me? Why couldn’t I be the one she sloppily hung all over? Why couldn’t I be the one she looked to to kiss when she was drunk? Why couldn’t I be the one apologizing to someone because she made me bump into them? Why did I have to be gay? Why couldn’t I just be made simpler? Why did Rachel have to be Rachel? Why did she have to be a girl? Why? Why? Why? Why?

I started to wonder if maybe this is how Santana feels all the time. When she sees Brittany kissing someone else or hugging someone else or talking to someone else. Does she feel this kind of anger? Does she feel this kind of rage? Does she hate the fact that she has this big secret inside of her that she can’t let out? Does she hate herself for being the kind of coward that can’t tell the girl how she really feels?

I started to think that maybe Santana isn’t angry at the world. I started to think that maybe she doesn’t hate everyone else. Maybe she was angry at herself. Maybe she hated herself. And if that was the case… then it’s extremely exhausting to be that angry all the time.

I was becoming someone who knew firsthand.

I powered my way back through the house without looking at Rachel and Finn because if I had looked at the two of them, I might have killed one of them or both of them, I’m not sure which. And I walked with a purpose back up those steps to Puck’s room. I wasn’t going to kiss her this time and I wasn’t going to let her go to third base with me. I was going to sit down and tell her that I feel the same way she does and I’m angry about it too and we can be angry together. We can hate ourselves together.

But when I opened up the door, Santana was gone.

And there was just an empty bed.

* * *

**“What do you think would have happened if Santana had still been there?” Bailey asks.**

**“I would’ve told her that I’m… that I’m the same as her and that it’s exhausting and maybe we could bond over that.”**

**“Do you think you would have said the words?”**

**“What words?”**

**“That you’re gay. Or lesbian. Or bisexual, whichever label fits you best.”**

**“...I don’t know. I was contact high and still riding the effects of LSD, so maybe.”**

**“Well did you leave after that? Or did you stay?”**

**“I left. Well… almost.”**

* * *

I sat back down on Puck’s bed again and I really wanted to cry because I did wish that Santana were still there. I don’t know why, but I thought that maybe she would be able to help me with the rage I was feeling inside. It seemed like she had been dealing with it far longer than I had been, so I thought maybe she’d have some tips or something. Or maybe she’d just be a listening ear that could really understand.

Though it was dark, I looked around Puck’s room and again and fought off the memory of how I could barely zip my skirt back up the night we had sex because I was crying too hard. He put his hand on my back and tried to comfort me by saying that he wasn’t going to tell anybody and that God would forgive me for having sex before marriage, but I just kept crying. And it wasn’t until now, an entire year and a half later, that I sat on his bed and realized that I wasn’t crying because I disappointed God and thought he would tell people we had sex. I realized in that moment that I was crying back then because I had done something I really didn’t want to do.

I remember picking my underwear up off his floor and trying to piece them back together before giving up and throwing them into his trashcan. And I remember looking back on his bedsheets, seeing a smear of red and uttering an “I’m sorry” underneath my tears. He told me that it was normal for there to be blood the first time and back then, I was gullible and naive and I believed him. At that memory, fresh anger coursed through my body and all I could do was grip his quilt until my hand shook. Things were clearer now, and I wasn’t as naive. I wanted to go down the steps and kill him in that moment because the only thing that makes it normal for someone who has been using tampons for years to bleed during sex is if something was forced inside of them.

I was beginning to think that anger was just part of who I was from then on. I was beginning to think that I was always going to be angry on some level. Angry at Rachel for being who she is and making me love her. Angry at myself for being gay. And angry at Puck for stealing who I used to be because ever since that night, a piece of myself has been gone and I haven’t been able to get her back.

As tears rolled down my cheeks, I laid back on his bed again and took a deep breath to try and swallow that anger. And I found that it helped a little if I thought about the one good thing that came from the night he took a piece of me away.

It was Halloween after all, and I tried my hardest not to think about her, but I couldn’t help it anymore.

I would’ve dressed her up in a really cute costume, probably something to match me. I wouldn’t have been a slutty Tinkerbell, I would’ve been something more wholesome. Like… like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. I would’ve been Dorothy and I would have dressed her up in a really cute puppy dog costume and carried her around in her car seat that I would have decorated to look like a picnic basket. Yeah. We would have been Dorothy and Toto. And even though she wouldn’t know what the hell was going on, I would have taken her trick or treating. Door to door, listening to everyone gawk at how cute the two of us looked together. I would be out trick or treating with her. I wouldn’t have been at that stupid party. I wouldn’t have been lying on Puck’s bed for the second time, crying because I felt so mixed up and like a stranger in my own head.

I began to think… once again… like maybe I would be better off dead…

But I didn’t have time to think that way for too long. Because just as that thought crossed my mind, Puck’s bedroom door flew open without even so much as a knock. And I sprung right up on the bed.

Mercedes stood in the doorway and looked at me like she was ready to throw up or cry or both. And she said,

“Quinn, come on. We have to go, and we have to go NOW. It’s Rachel…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn’t upset you guys too much with the Santana encounter, and I’m sorry if I did. But I do take my writing pretty seriously and I am one of those authors who does everything with intention and purpose. So please don’t think I did this for shock value or anything of the sort. The encounter with Santana was important for Quinn’s development. In having the encounter with Santana, she began to understand the self hatred that Santana feels and recognizes that she feels the same way, which is a big step for her to discuss and begin to move past in therapy. The encounter with Santana’s purpose was also to push Quinn to realize that she would like kissing ANY girl, which doesn’t limit her sexuality to just Rachel. Sure, I could have had everything that happened with Santana happen with Rachel, but then that would just make it seem as though Quinn’s sexuality is limited to romantic feelings for only ONE girl, which I thought wouldn’t be fair or accurate. Also, I just didn’t think it would be right for Quinn’s first sexual experiences with a girl to come from the girl she is crushing on. That doesn’t seem realistic to me, and I didn’t want the pressure of Quinn’s first experience with a girl to fall solely on Rachel because I think it’s more realistic to make her first experience with a girl a bit awkward and I didn’t want it to be awkward with Rachel. Sorry for the long explanation as to why I did what I did, I just wanted you guys to know that I didn’t do it for shock value and I really did think long and hard about Quinn’s first sexual experience with a girl.


	20. Bad Liar

**To get more settled, I sit all the way back in my chair and fold my legs before I lean against them with my elbows. The bag of Doritos is completely gone and now a container of mini powdered donuts sits in its place. Bailey has little droplets of powdered sugar at the corners of her mouth but I think she’s comfortable around me, because she doesn’t bother wiping them off. I’m comfortable around her too because I don’t feel the need to cover my arms or chest anymore. I’m sitting in front of her in nothing but sweatpants and the flimsy tank top I slept in last night and it feels like the most normal thing in the world.**

**“What happens if I go over my hour time slot?” I ask, eyeing the donuts. I want two or three more, but I already ate about five and I don’t want to look too fat in front of her.**

**Bailey glances up at the clock and nudges her glasses with bier index finger. “We still have half an hour for you to finish your story, so don’t worry about it.”**

**“Well yeah I know, but what if it takes longer than that for me to finish? Do I just get up and leave mid-story or do I stay and finish it and let you charge my insurance? How does it work?”**

**“That’s really not something you need to be worrying about. I’m not a clock-watcher. Just tell me your story and I’ll let you know when I’m ready to dismiss you.”**

**“But don’t you have to like, counsel me too? Or something?”**

**“Today I just plan on listening. I’ll get to the counseling on Tuesday when I see you in school.”**

**“Oh, yeah. Right. I forgot about that.”**

**“We have all the time in the world together, Quinn. And today’s been a real breakthrough. I’m not ready for that to stop yet, so continue. I’m all ears. What happened when you got home?”**

**“Rachel came with me.”**

**“Really?! And how did that happen?”**

* * *

**Saturday, October 13**

**iMessage**

**1:38 a.m.**

**ME: **Hey it’s Quinn, not sure if you still have my number saved or not. Just wondering if you made it home okay

I locked my phone and shoved it into the back pocket of the jeans I put on underneath my Tinkerbell dress and pretended like I was listening to everything they were saying while I was actually busy drafting a text message. Mercedes dumped water from the Brita pitcher into a coffee mug while Tina sprayed Lysol on a spot where vomit used to be. The spot on her linoleum kitchen floor had been clean for about ten minutes, but she still kept scrubbing because she was convinced that her parents would pick up on the smell somehow.

“Give her some bread to eat. It’ll help soak up the alcohol and she’ll sober up,” I said. I did my best to avoid looking at Rachel, still dressed in her costume, hunched over and throwing up into the sink.

“I already tried, she just threw it back up,” Mercedes put her head down on the kitchen table and sighed. “I knew we should’ve put a limit on her. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.”

“We have to figure something out quick,” Tina was panicking, that was easy to see. She threw the wet paper towels into her garbage can and sprayed a new round of cleaner. “She’s going to wake up my parents and I swear they’ll kill all of us.”

My phone buzzed in my back pocket and I slipped it out while I said, “Mercedes, why don’t we just crash at your place tonight?”

**iMessage**

**1:40 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **I made it home fine.

**SANTANA: **Listen u dont have to act like u care.

“Uh-uh! My parents are going to be home like super early in the morning and the one rule they had about leaving me alone was that I didn’t invite anybody over, so,” she replied, trying to hand Rachel the mug of water since it seemed like she finally stopped puking. “Plan B, anyone?”

**iMessage**

**1:41 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **We dont have to mention this at all

**SANTANA: **We were drunk. & I would appreciate it if u didnt tell ppl what happened.

“She can’t stay here. My parents will freak and never let me out the house again. Like ever.” Tina finally put the cleaning supplies away and started spraying air freshener all over the place.

**1:41 a.m.**

**ME: **Secrets safe with me. Glad you made it home.

I waved a gust of it away from my face and took a deep breath as I considered what I was about to say. There was still a part of me that was so angry at what I saw. I tried to forgive her because I knew she was drunk and I wasn’t one to judge people on the things that they do when they’re drunk, but I couldn’t help myself. Every time I looked at her, I saw little glimpses of the way she threw herself all over Finn. I saw visuals in my head of her tongue touching his lips and his hands cupping her waist and it made me feel physically sick. Still, I knew that there was a big part of me that cared about her. It was buried underneath all the agitation and rage, but it was still there nonetheless. So I ran my fingers through my crunchy-from-hairspray hair and finally made my offer.

“I’ll take her home with me,” I said, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jacket just to appear more lax. “My mom went to some thing with her book club tonight and she probably won’t be home until tomorrow sometime. And she won’t ask questions.”

“Are you sure?” Mercedes picked herself up off the table. “Like totally sure?”

“Maybe we could call her dads and tell them that she just got like, super sick at the party or something.” Tina suggested and I remember looking at her like she just agreed to sympathizing with Adolf Hitler.

“That’s an awful idea,” I shook my head. “I’m serious guys, it’s fine. I’ll take her home and let her sleep it off. She’s going to wake up with a huge hangover, but she’ll be fine. Mercedes, come on if you’re going home. I’ll drop you off.”

* * *

**“Don’t you think that was a big step you took?” The smile on Bailey’s face as she asks that question says everything that I need to know. She’s proud of me, I can feel it. And it’s a weird feeling because even though at least a million people have said it to me at least a million times before, it’s not something I ever really felt. But I feel it with Bailey today and it’s a feeling that I really want to hold onto. “You acknowledged your personal feelings towards Rachel and acknowledged the jealousy you felt at having witnessed her kiss somebody else. But you put those feelings aside and you were still able to remain civil with her. I’d say that’s a step in the right direction, wouldn’t you?”**

**“I mean, I…” My voice trails off as I let that marinate in my mind for a little bit. I guess for what it’s worth, she’s right about that. I used to be so angry with Rachel for no reason that I shut her out. And if I was still that same person who just got angry with her for no reason, I would have agreed with Tina and taken her home so she could get in trouble with her dads because I hated seeing her kiss Finn that much. But I didn’t do that… “I guess, yeah.”**

**“I’m proud of you, Quinn,” she smiles at me again and glances at her wristwatch. “Okay, twenty minutes left. Let’s see if you can wrap this up.”**

**“Okay. Well, after we left Tina’s, I took Mercedes home. And then we went back to my house…”**

* * *

I heard the toilet flush as I rummaged through my drawers in search of something that she would be comfortable in. I wasn’t worried about anything of mine actually fitting her, because Rachel had to be about two sizes smaller than me. I found one of my old summer camp t-shirts and a pair of old flannel pajama pants that I thought would work. I folded the clothes neatly and heard the toilet flush again, so I knew that she was probably done. But I still didn’t want to violate her privacy, so I knocked on the bathroom door.

“You good in there?” I called through the cracked door.

“I… I think so,” her voice was wobbly, but clearer than it had been all night so I took it as a good sign.

I pushed the door open and looked at the ground instead of at her, hunched over the toilet. I still couldn’t quite bring myself to look her in the eye. Not when I was still feeling so much anger. “Here’s some pajamas. I know you don’t have underwear or anything to change into, but you can take a shower. If you want. The, um… towels and washcloths are in that cabinet right there.”

“Thank you, Quinn,” she cleared her throat and stood upright. She was ready to say something else, but I didn’t give her the chance.

I left the clothes on the ledge of the sink and closed the door behind me before I said something I might have regretted. When I heard the shower water start, I finally let out the breath I forgot I was holding, and went back to my bedroom to get myself settled in. My hair was still damp from the quick shower I took as soon as we got to my house, so I pulled it up into a bun and flopped down on my bed. Mercedes wanted me to text her when we got to my house and got settled, so I grabbed my phone off my nightstand and opened it up to five new text messages.

**iMessage**

** 2:01 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **Thank u for being there tonight btw.

**SANTANA: **Goodnight Quinn 

**2:34 a.m.**

**ME: **welcome. gn.

**Text Message**

**2:07 a.m.**

**513-555-8876: **Yo y u n dem leave so early

**2:10 a.m.**

**513-555-8876: **???

**2:35 a.m.**

**ME: **who is this?

**iMessage**

**2:21 a.m.**

**FINN: **U with Rachel?

**2:35 a.m.**

**ME: **yes she is here @ my house and she is fine. that’s all you need to know. she will text you in the morning.

**Text Message**

**2:36 a.m.**

**513-555-8876: **Puck

I froze when I read his name across my screen, and my thumbs trembled as they hovered over the letters, waiting for my brain to command them to type out a response. I could suddenly feel my heart beating out of my chest and my head started to spin. I wondered how he got my number, but I didn’t have time to focus on him texting me for too long, because my phone started uncontrollably buzzing in my hand and a different name flashed across the screen.

**INCOMING CALL FROM**

**FINN**

I know I had no right to do what I did next because Rachel isn’t my property and I don’t get to stake some unfair claim on her, but I couldn’t help it. Tapped my finger on the right side of the screen and hit “decline call” to take him straight to my voicemail. I felt bad immediately after I did it, but I couldn’t help it. I just wanted him to be gone for the night. It was late and I only had a few more precious minutes before Rachel and I were too tired to even be awake anymore. The rest of the night was just going to be us and I wanted it to be perfect without Finn clouding anything.

I pushed Finn from my mind and Puck, too. I locked my phone, tossed it onto the pillow beside me, and closed my eyes. It’s worth noting that I felt completely better and not so groggy anymore, so I knew the LSD wore off. Mom was gone all weekend and I was glad. She wasn’t with her book club and in truth, I didn’t know where she was but I knew it was somewhere with Dad. I felt bad for lying to the girls when I said she went somewhere with her book club, but I just didn’t know how to explain to them that my mother was seeing my father again. Not whenever they knew that he kicked me out. Truthfully, I still wasn’t sure how to explain to myself that the two of them were seeing each other again. Either way, I was glad she was gone for the weekend because I don’t know how I would have explained Rachel to Judy Fabray whenever I was tripping on acid myself.

I started to think about how long of a night it had been, especially considering that it had started with me feeling out of place at a homecoming game. And the more I thought about it, the more relaxed I started to feel, which felt really odd but I chalked it up to the fact that I was exhausted.

So when Rachel came out of the bathroom and walked across the hallway to find me inside of my bedroom?

I didn’t protest at all when she laid down beside me and we both gave ourselves to sleep.

* * *

**“So that’s it?” Bailey raises her eyebrows at me. “That’s everything?”**

**“Yep.”**

**“You and Rachel just laid down and went to sleep?”**

**“Mhm,” I nod.**

**“So at which point did you need to call an emergency session?” Her eyebrows wrinkle and her head tilts. “I’m a bit confused.”**

**“I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday like this, but I just… I needed to talk. You know? It was… it was overwhelming, I guess. Everything that happened. It got to be too much. It wasn’t baby steps like Jessica said it needed to be, and my mom’s still not home, so I just… I came here.” I mumble my half-assed explanation and I’m glad that Bailey doesn’t seem too mad.**

**“Well it certainly was an eventful night, I’ll give you that. And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you calling me whenever you just need to talk. That’s what I’m here for. It just sounded pretty urgent on the phone when you called is all.”**

**“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I shrug my shoulders and shake my head at the same time. “It wasn’t anything like that… I just needed to talk.” I look up at the clock and see that it’s been exactly one full hour. “So, is that it? Are we good?”**

**“Um…” Bailey looks at the clock too. Her face still reads clear confusion, but she starts to stand up anyway. “Yeah, sure, sure. We’re good. I’ll um… I’ll see you Tuesday? For our school session?”**

**“Yep, it’s a date,” I give her a thumbs up and grab my sweatshirt as I head for the door.**

**And as I leave out of the building, I want to punch myself in the face and cry because that was such a great session. I was finally opening up to her and finally using therapy the way I am supposed to use it. I was finally making positive steps forward.**

**But I messed it all up by lying to her in the end and I hate myself for that.**

* * *

I kick my shoes off at the door and throw my keys down on the mantle as soon as I get home. Mom’s still not back from wherever she went with Dad yet, which means I still have the house to myself for a few more hours. Most normal seventeen-year-old girls would take the opportunity to have friends over and do whatever it is that normal teenagers do whenever their parents aren’t home for the weekend, but I’m just looking forward to lying on the couch in my underwear with no judgement.

I take my sweatpants off and toss them into the corner of the stairs, then take my sweatshirt off too so that I’m in the same tank top I was in during my therapy session. And freely in my underwear, I grab the entire carton of butter pecan ice cream from the freezer, the bag of cheddar and sour cream Ruffles from the pantry, the entire two-liter of ginger ale, and head for the good living room.

I turn the TV on, grab the really thick brown blanket from the back of the loveseat, and settle in for a Law and Order: SVU marathon.

I think I’m washing away all the progress I made today by doing this, because I know deep down that there’s no way I’m going to eat all of this food and not throw it back up in a few minutes, but I can’t help it. I am without a doubt going to dust off this entire carton of ice cream. Then I’m going to eat every last crumb of these potato chips. And when I’m done with that, I’m going to guzzle all two liters of ginger ale until my stomach hurts. Then I’m going to waddle to the kitchen sink, stuff my fingers down the back of my throat, and watch it all come back up like magic. I know that’s what I’m going to do. But I really, truly, cannot help it. It’s the only way that I’ll feel better about blatantly lying to Bailey. Because that’s what I did. I blatantly lied to her and she gave me no reason to.

I don’t know why I stopped there. I don’t know why I lied and said that Rachel and I just laid down and went to sleep when that couldn’t be any further from the truth. The truth is… the truth is that I am… gay. And I’ve never been more sure of it than I am today.

And that alone is terrifying. Especially when I think about what led me to the conclusion...

_ Rachel’s hair drips down her back as she sits on the edge of my bed, fresh out of the shower. Her face is flushed and pale, but I still think she looks beautiful. Her voice is hoarse as she says, “I swear I’m never drinking again.” _

_ I laugh and sit upright instead of lying down, just to let her know that she has my attention. _

_ “I’ve said that before,” I smirk. “But saying that doesn’t do anything but teach you a lesson about your limit.” _

_ “I don’t really remember what happened,” she whispers with her head to the ground and for the first time, I kind of get the sense that maybe she’s ashamed of herself and I want to envelop her in a hug and tell her that she shouldn’t be. “Did I really kiss Finn?” _

_ “Yeah, you did,” I say rather matter-of-factly, and I instantly regret my tone. I was still feeling a little sting over seeing her kiss Finn like that, but I think it’s gone now. Now it’s mostly just filled with the inherent need to make her feel better because she really seems torn up over this. _

_ “Hey,” I scoot so I’m actually sitting next to her and I rest my hand on top of hers once I see a tear fall down from her cheek and splash onto her kneecap. “Hey, it’s okay, alright? We’re young. We’re young and getting drunk like that is all part of the experience. Nobody’s going to remember what happened at that party by tomorrow, I swear.” _

_ “Have you?” Her voice is a little louder now, but still mostly just a whisper. _

_ “Have I what?” _

_ “Been that drunk?” _

_ “Oh, please. I was that drunk the night I got pregnant,” that rolls off my tongue before I have the chance to stop it and now that it’s all out in the open, I can’t retract. _

_ “You were drunk the night you got pregnant?” she asks, looking at me. I just look down… “Was Puck drunk too?” _

_ I bite my lip, wrestling on what — if anything — I should say. Rachel’s the one person I never want to lie to. It seems like the two of us are really rebuilding our relationship and I just don’t want to mess it up or build it on the foundation of a lie, no matter how little a lie it is. The truth is that yes, I have been that drunk before. And I don’t really want her to know that… but I also don’t want to lie to her, either… _

_ She’s silent and I know Rachel well enough by now to know her different silences. She has one silence that she reserves for if she’s trying not to say something she really wants to say. And she has another silence that she reserves for the moments where she’s trying not to cry. This kind of silence is a new one. This kind of silence right here is the kind of silence she reserves for when she’s putting the pieces of a puzzle together… _

_ “He… he wasn’t, was he?” _

_ I let another few seconds of silence pass us by before I find the perfect diversion by saying, “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” _

_ She looks at me like there’s something deep and unspoken between us and there kind of is. She understands what I just admitted to and I’m halfway expecting her to harp on it and ask me for details and ask me the same questions I know everybody else will ask me if I ever tell them. The whole “why didn’t you tell anybody?” and “why don’t you go to the police?” I flinch when she opens her mouth because I really am expecting one of those questions to pass through her lips. _

_ But instead, she says, “I’m…starving, actually.” _

Before I know it, I’m scraping the bottom of the chip bag with my fingertips. It didn’t feel like I ate that much already, but obviously I must have because it was a brand new bag. The ice cream carton is empty too, so there’s just one thing left to do. I twist the cap off the ginger ale and gulp it down until my throat burns and my eyes water.

And once it’s gone, I roll off the couch and walk, painfully, to the kitchen. I go right over to the sink and rest my hands on the granite as I look inside.

The dirty waffle maker at the bottom makes me smile…

_ “Hmmm… chocolate chips?!” Rachel shouts over her shoulder as she continues going through each cabinet. Her feet dangle off the edge of the countertop as she stands on top of it it on her knees, too short to see the top shelves. _

_ “Chocolate chips are good,” I stand on my tiptoes to reach the power cord. _

_ “And butterscotch chips?!” she yells again. _

_ “In waffles?!” I plug the waffle maker in and spray it down with some cooking spray. _

_ “Yeah, you’re right. That’s a little weird,” she laughs. _

_ She climbs down off the countertop with the bag of chocolate chips in tow and sits down on one of the barstools at the kitchen island. She watches me as I add water and stir the waffle batter. And she watches everything else, too. Her eyes just kinda roam every corner of my kitchen, and then she turns around and they roam every corner of the parts of the good living room that she can see from the kitchen. _

_ “I used to think that your existence was unfair,” she says it in a way that sounds like she’s kind of embarrassed. _

_ “What do you mean?” I ask as I pour the batter into the iron and close it shut. _

_ “I just caught myself looking around your house and not being able to believe that I was actually in it, having a sleepover and making waffles at three in the morning with you.” _

_ “Rachel, I’m —“ _

_ “I was wrong to do that. I’m working on being so judgmental.” _

_ I head to the fridge and grab the half empty jug of orange juice. I pull two cups down from the cupboard. “It’s okay, Rachel. Honestly. It is.” _

_ “No, it’s not. I make so many judgments about people without getting to know them. You know, I used to get SO upset because I thought you were judging me without getting to know me but I just realized that I was doing it to you too and —“ _

_ “Rachel, BREATHE. Take a breath.” I remind her, but only because I think she’s been beating herself up about enough things tonight and seriously, “misjudging”’me is not one of those things she should be beating herself up about at all. I find it cute when she does that, though. Sometimes she rambles when she’s upset and she just keeps going on and on and on and on and I think it’s super adorable. I love it when she does that. _

_ It’s silent between us again, and I’m starting to notice that Rachel is like Mercedes with silence. She doesn’t always feel the need to fill it and I like her even more for that. _

_ The waffle iron beeps softly, so I open it up and scrape her big fluffy Belgian waffle onto a plate. “Order up,” I chuckle as I nudge the plate in her direction. _

_ As I start pouring more batter into the iron for my waffle next, she cuts a piece of cold butter onto her waffle and I watch it melt. For the second time tonight, I’m being told that I’m… unbelievable in some way. They told me once at the football game that they thought I was perfect, in a nutshell. And now she’s telling me that she can’t believe she’s having a sleepover and eating waffles with me. It’s as if they think I’m superhuman or something. But really, if they ever got inside my brain, they’d run away screaming. Something’s gotta humanize me to these people… _

_ “Wanna know something?” _

_ “Sure,” Rachel nods as she starts spraying whipped cream on top of a square of butter she just put down on it. “Something like what?” _

_ “I used to tiptoe down here and sneak food once everybody was sleeping because my dad always made me feel like it was wrong if I was still hungry after dinner.” _

_ “What do you mean?” she takes a giant bite out of her waffle and gets whipped cream on the tip of her nose. I catch myself almost wiping it off for her. _

_ “Appearance is everything with my family, okay? And I was always the chubby one. And I lost a crap load of weight on my own. I… joined gymnastics, took dance classes, went on weight watchers… you name it, I did it. But once you’re known as the chubby one…. well… you never really shed that image. And my dad used to comment on every little thing that I put into my mouth. Eventually it got to be so much that I just… ate whenever nobody was watching,” I shrug, scraping my own waffle onto a plate. _

_ “Wow,” she puts her fork down which is when I know that she’s about to say something serious. “...I never considered how hard it must be to be you, Quinn. I used to think that being Quinn Fabray was easy because you’re so pretty and popular and… you know…. you.” _

_ “You know most days…” I climb on top of the bar stool across from hers and start putting butter and powdered sugar and syrup on my own waffle. “Most days, it was easy. It was just the flip of a coin, really. Some days I had control on it and I knew how to be a good cheerleader, a good role model, a good student, a good cheerleader, a good daughter…” I take a breath because I don’t know if I should go any further but then I think that it’s okay because it’s Rachel and she’s the one person in this world I so desperately want to be close to. “But other days I got tired of keeping the mask on. And those days, I let it slip. And I made mistakes. All I wanted to be was a good person but it’s hard to be a good person when you walk around angry that you have to hide all the time.” _

_ She reaches across the table and in the blink of an eye, her hand is on top of mine. And I feel that internal calmness just wash over me. It’s almost like as long as she’s touching me, everything is alright. And it’s a feeling that nobody has ever been able to give me before. _

_ “You know Quinn, for what it’s worth… I think you’re a great person.” _

_ “Really?” _

_ “Really. I mean, if you would’ve asked me a year ago, I might’ve had a different answer. A year ago, I might have said that I thought you were just as good as terrible. But I’m starting to get to know you. I’m starting to get to know the real Quinn. And the real Quinn is someone I really, really like.” _

Ever since she said that to me, I’ve been replaying it over and over in my mind and using it to try and be a better me. I don’t think she knows just how much hearing her say that meant to me and I don’t know if she’ll ever know. But it stuck with me.

Even as we were cleaning up and I suggested that we go lie down so she didn’t wake up with a hangover, I just kept thinking about what she said. And even when she told me that she didn’t feel drunk anymore and I said “that’s what they all say”, I just thought about how the one person who truly matters to me the most right now thinks that I’m a good person. If Rachel thinks that I’m a good person then maybe I am.

I scrub my hands and wash the sink out after I’m done getting rid of everything I just ate, and I find myself back on the couch.

And I’m still just thinking about the parts that I didn’t tell Bailey. The parts that actually led me to needing the emergency session...

_ I don’t feel anything and I’m starting to wonder if it’s because Jessica was wrong and I’m not really as gay as the thought I was. If I were truly gay, wouldn’t I feel something right now? _

_ Rachel is sleeping in my bed beside me and I feel absolutely nothing. I can hear her breathing and I can feel the warmth of her body radiating against mine. Our backs are to each other but we’re close enough that I can feel her presence underneath the covers with me. _

_ This is everything I ever wanted. Yet, I feel comfortably numb. _

_ Maybe it’s because she’s drunk and I’m not attracted to a drunk girl. But then again, I’m pretty sure Santana was drunk when we made out and did other things earlier and I was totally into kissing her… _

_ Or maybe I’m just not attracted to Rachel at the moment because she’s in a very vulnerable position and I really care about her too much to take advantage of the situation. But even if that is true, shouldn’t I be feeling something? I’m in bed with the girl who turned my world upside down and I feel… nothing. I feel — _

_ “Quinn?” her voice cuts through the darkness and almost makes me jump. She’s been so quiet for so long that I was sure she was sleeping! _

_ “Hmm?” _

_ “Were you sleeping?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “Good, because I can’t.” The blankets rustle on top of us as she turns so she’s facing me. “It’s hard to sleep when the room is spinning.” _

_ I try to stifle my laughter but I can’t, so it fills the entire room and I roll over so that I’m facing her, too. We’re face to face now and I’m starting to feel something… _

_ “Thank you, by the way,” she says though her own laughter. “For letting me stay here and for taking care of me. My dads… they wouldn’t have killed me or anything but they would’ve told me how disappointed in me they were if I went home and sometimes that’s worse.” _

_ “You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything.” I say. _

_ I’m definitely feeling something now. I’m feeling like I want to reach out into the empty space between us and touch her. I want to hold her hand and never let it go. I want to close my eyes because if I’m living a dream right now, I don’t ever want to wake up. God, I want to be more than her friend. _

_ “Quinn? How did you fall asleep when the room was spinning?” _

_ “I don’t remember,” I whisper, feeling that familiar burn of anger rising up inside of me because I know we will never be anything more than friends. It’s like a flame that’s gaining momentum and trying to burn brighter. I swallow hard to stifle it, to put it out. I don’t know if I’m successful. _

_ “Am I annoying you with all my questions?” _

_ “A little,” I admit. I’m still trying to put out the fire… “But it’s okay. I don’t mind.” _

_ I’m not sure if I really want to know the answer to this at the moment, but I just…. I really need to know. And I’m already trying to bury my anger, so what’s another ten pounds of it added? I already don’t have a shovel big enough to bury all of it so I might as well pile it on… right? _

_ “Why were you making out with Finn?” I ask and if she even has half a brain, she can probably tell that my tone is more jealous than curious and I’m not quite sure if I care that she can tell the difference right now. “If you two are broken up, then why are you making out with him?” _

_ “He told Puck and Artie that I’m a bad kisser. I wanted to prove him wrong and I guess… I guess I just got carried —“ _

_ “Why does it matter so much? Why do you care what Finn thinks of you when nobody is going to even remember in the morning what he said?” _

_ She is silent, and it’s Rachel Silence #4, the kind of silence that happens when she’s not sure how to answer a tough question. _

_ “I guess I don’t know,” she whispers. _

_ Things are quiet between us but this time, it is one hundred percent awkward. She is pondering while I am fuming. I just wish she would stop caring about him. I know it’s way easier said than done when she is in love with him but seriously… he doesn’t deserve her. I… I would treat her so much better. I swear I would. And I can’t spend the rest of my life silently pining after her, I just can’t. It’s going to be exhausting if this is all I ever do and I can’t see myself ever getting over her… _

_ “...Quinn, I have another question.” _

_ “God, what Rachel?” It’s completely dark in my room since we’re supposed to be trying to go to bed, so I can’t see her face. But I can tell that she has one of her innocent looks on her face. One of those innocent looks that usually makes me want to melt into a puddle on the floor. _

_ “I need your advice,” she says. _

_ “Okay, fine.” _

_ “...What would you do if you really wanted to kiss someone… but you didn’t know if they wanted to kiss you back?” _

_ I literally feel like my head is about to explode. It can’t possibly be healthy to feel this much anger inside one tiny body. I want to get up and just walk away. I want to scream and punch several holes into the walls. Why are things like this?! I don’t know if I can do this. I know she’s just trying to ask me questions that most girls ask their normal girl friends but I don’t know if I can be that kind of friend to Rachel. I honestly don’t think I can do this. I tried. I gave it an effort. But I can’t. _

_ “Just ask,” I manage to give my honest answer and I don’t know how I did that but I did. “In a flirty kind of way, of course.” _

_ “Well that’s not possible. So then what?” _

_ “Well why aren’t you sure the person doesn’t want to kiss you back?” _

_ “Because we’re not together and there’s probably no way we ever will be together after what I did tonight, so…” _

_ “Well —“ _

_ “I don’t want to be with that person either, by the way. I just… had a feeling.” _

_ “Is there any indication at all that he might be into you?” I feel just a tad bit lighter now that she says she doesn’t want to be with him. I’m glad for that, too. Because Finn just doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t need to be with him. They will never work out because he just… doesn’t understand what a special person she is. I’m glad she says that she doesn’t want to be with him. _

_ “No. There’s no indication. I think tonight would have been the indication and there was none.” _

_ I take a moment to actually think of decent advice to give her. I mean if she doesn’t feel like Finn wants to be with her then what does she have to lose? _

_ “Next time you have the opportunity to kiss him, just go for it,” I sigh. _

_ “Go for it?” _

_ “Yeah. Make sure he’s not drunk or anything. And just… go for it.” _

_ “Okay.” _

_ Again, things are silent. That awkward silence, too. And it’s even more awkward because it’s a type of Rachel silence that I haven’t identified yet. So I’m extremely grateful when she breaks it. _

_ “Quinn?” _

_ “What.” I say through agitated, clenched teeth. _

_ “Are you drunk?” she asks. _

_ “Huh? No, I didn’t drink anything tonight, I didn’t —“ _

_ And what interrupts me next isn't her words. No. _

_ What interrupts me this time are her lips… _

_ Pressing up against mine. _


	21. Sunday Morning

“But things just get so crazy… living life gets hard to do…” I sing along softly to myself as I drag a comb across my scalp to part off another piece of my hair. I scoot a little closer to my mirror and pick up the straightening iron, careful not to tangle my headphones up in the heat. “And I would gladly hit the road, get up and go if I knew… that someday it would lead me back to you…”

The steam from my hair fogs up the corner of the mirror I’m using to guide myself through straightening my hair, but it’s gone by the time I put the flat iron back down. Tomorrow’s Monday, which means it’s the first day back to school from homecoming weekend and I don’t know why, but something inside of me wants to look extra nice tomorrow so I’ve decided to do something I only do every once in a blue moon and straighten my hair. I usually wear it with a little bit of a curl to it, but I think straightening it might show off a different side of me.

“That may be allllllllll I’llllllll need…” Mom’s still not back from her weekend trip with Dad, so I can sing as loud as I want to and it’s the little moments like this when I appreciate being alone. “In darkness she is allllllllll I see. Come and rest your boooooones with me… drivin’ slow on Sunday morning…”

I had a pretty eventful day by myself, I must say. Aside from lying on the couch and bingeing Law and Order, I made myself dinner. Sure, all I did was boil some fettuccine noodles and dump Alfredo sauce from a jar over them, but it was still pretty tasty. I’m still working on not asking Mom for anything at all, so I washed a load of my own laundry instead of waiting for her to do it. I took a good shower in which I washed my hair and shaved every inch of my body that had hair on it that I didn’t want to be there. I picked out a nice outfit to wear to school tomorrow. I did my stats homework that Mr. Newman assigned on Friday. And now I’m straightening my hair before going to bed for the night.

I’ve been trying to put off thinking about seeing her tomorrow. And yes, she’s back to not having a name in my mind. I’ll talk to Bailey about it all on Tuesday when I see her during my school session, but I’m pretty sure this is a regression. I used to be able to think and speak her name so freely with very minimal internal meltdown but I’m right back to where I started and I am ashamed of myself, sure. But mostly, I think it’s warranted because she  _ did  _ kiss me.

And even though I’m not the one who initiated it, it still makes me a terrible person because she was drunk and I wasn’t, but man, did I kiss her back…

_ “What the hell are you doing, Rachel?!” Even though it’s dark, I can see the painful rejection in her soft brown eyes as she looks at me like I’ve just served her the purest form of betrayal by pushing her away like I just did. _

_ I pushed her hard, too.  _

_ Maybe a little excessively. _

_ I put my hands on her shoulders and gave her the hardest shove I could muster up with how tired I am. Her lips tore away from mine in the same instant that they made contact in the first place, and the whole thing was something much less than a kiss. It was a peck, maybe. If I could even call it that. _

_ “I-I’m so…” her voice trails off and cracks and for a second, I really think she’s about to cry. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss her, because I do... god knows I do… but not… not like this… “That was just me… going for it like you said I should.” _

_ I say nothing and just lick my lips because I don’t have anything to say and I want to taste the parts of her that remain. I had thought about our first kiss for a very long time. I thought that it would happen in the middle of a dark night underneath a blanket of stars. And it would happen after I had worked up enough courage to tell her that I like her as something more than a friend. And after I thought about that for too long and that idea became too romantic, I imagined it happening after we win sectionals. Everyone will be happy and basking in some amazing performance-induced afterglow and I’d pull her to the side to congratulate her and tell her how amazing her solo sounded. And then I’d look her in the eye and kiss her. But then that one started to sound a little too much like sexual harassment, so I thought of a third one that happens during the next time we hang out. I’d pick the movie this time since she picked Beaches last time. We would just be finishing up Pretty Woman or Miss Congeniality or Girl, Interrupted and she’d be riding the high of watching one of my favorite movies. And then I’d tell her that I’m sorry for the way I treated her and she’d tell me it’s okay and then I’d lean in and kiss her. _

_ My point is, I had a lot of different ideas for how our first kiss was going to go and none of those scenarios included either of us being drunk. And we only get one first kiss. One first kiss to look back on and remember with a smile. And she ruined it. She wrecked it all and threw our one and only chance out the window. How could she…? _

_ “Do you hate me now?” She whispers into the space between us. _

_ Her question catches me off guard because I didn’t even consider the possibility of being angry with her. Disappointed, yeah. Sad, yeah. But angry? The thought never even crossed my mind. _

_ “No,” I shake my head. “But I think that you —“ _

_ I don’t even get a chance to say what it was that I was about to say, because just like the first time about ninety seconds ago, her lips are on mine again. Harder this time, too. Like… like she’s hungry and yearning for me to be hungry along with her. _

_ And I want to be strong enough, I do. I want to be the pillar of strength between the two of us. I want to know that she’s drunk and be responsible enough to reject her and not take advantage of this situation, but I’m not. I’m not that strong and I’m not that responsible and I can’t force myself to act like this isn’t the one thing I’ve been holding on for. _

_ Even on my darkest days… _

_ The days where I miss my daughter so much that my heart physically hurts and I don’t feel like I can keep existing in that kind of pain. The days where I look at Puck and feel myself tearing away from my conscience the way he tore away at my body that night. The days where my mother sneaks off to spend time with my father and I want to be happy for her because it seems like he’s making her happy again, but I can’t be happy for her because all I see when she takes him back is the way his hands made her lip bleed on more than one occasion. And the days where I hate myself and my existence so much that I just don’t feel like I deserve anything — including food.  _

_ Even on days as dark as those, the one thing that kept me going was the idea that maybe someday I could know what her lips feel like underneath my own. _

_ How is anyone supposed to be strong enough to reject that? _

_ Our lips stay closed at first, but I still take in how hers feel. They’re smooth, like gliding against freshly lotioned skin. And she kissed me so suddenly that I didn’t have time to turn my head, so our noses are touching but even her nose is soft. We stay the way we are, just pressed up against each other, for a moment. And just when I think that maybe this is all we’ll ever do and I can rationalize that, she pushes her lips against mine harder. And I take that as a sign that maybe she’s ready to move a little further. _

_ I part my lips just slightly so she can get the hint, and she does. She opens her mouth too and we linger just like that for a few seconds, wondering which one is going to be brave enough to make the move. I want to… god knows I want to… but a wave of nervousness just washed over me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. _

_ We’ll never come back from this. Once we do this, our relationship is forever changed. We can never go back to being the kind of friends who hole up in her room and watch Beaches, or the kind of friends who offer to do makeup to match the slutty pirate costume. Once we do this, the toothpaste has officially been squeezed out of the tube and we can’t push it back in… _

_ Her tongue slowly peeks out of her mouth and the second I feel it cross over into my mouth, I lose all control. _

_ My tongue pushes against hers and they meet in a crash; a kaleidoscope explosion of feelings all over both our bodies. In this moment, as our tongues swirl and chase each other around our mouths, it feels like the rest of the world is silently sleeping. Everything around us is hushed. But the two of us are loud as can be. The world is black and white and she and I are the only things in bright, bold colors. _

_ Her mouth opens wider, drawing me in. I pull away from her for just a second so I can catch my breath, but she doesn’t let me. She follows my movement, wanting to hold onto my kiss like it’s something she cherishes. She draws closer and closer until my head is smashed down into my pillow as far as it can go, and I let her take the lead. I’m a little surprised when her hands find their way to my body. One lays on my hip, her palms graze the parts of my skin that aren’t covered by my t-shirt or pajama pants. The other rests on my cheek. _

_ I wait for it to feel wrong. _

_ I wait for the guilt and the shame and the regret to fill me up and swallow me whole the way it did when I kissed Santana. I wait and I wait and I wait. And it never comes. _

_ Even when my palms rest at the nape of her neck and my fingers curl through the tufts of her hair that are still damp from her shower, the guilt never comes. And it starts to feel like some of the choreography we have to learn in Glee club sometimes, the way our movements just flow. She wraps her hand further around my waist and I pull her face closer because even though her tongue is so deep in my mouth, I still want more and more and I’m starting to think that even if I had every part of her, it wouldn’t be enough. _

_ She lifts my t-shirt up just slightly and I don’t usually sleep in a bra but I really am glad that I put a sports one on tonight because if she pulls my shirt up any further, my chest will surely be out. Her fingers trace my navel then wrap around to the skin on my back and I pull away again, just to catch my breath. Her fingers dance around the rim of my t-shirt until I get the picture that she wants me to take it off and I happily oblige. I lean up and pull my shirt over my head. _

_ And even though it’s dark in my room and I can’t see much, I can feel her movements and I know that she takes her shirt off too. Only, unlike me, she didn’t have a bra to put on. And I want to look, I do. I really really want to look at her and make the best of this moment because it honestly may never happen again, but I don’t. I want to respect her and while she has no bra on and I do, we are not equal. So I put my hands on her shoulders and pull her back in for another kiss. _

_ Part of me thinks that I never stopped hallucinating from those Sour Patch Kids. As she takes the lead again and rolls me onto my back, I’m almost sure I never stopped hallucinating. _

_ I part my legs a little so she can lie between them while we kiss and I don’t have to think about what I want to do next, it just comes to me. I peel my lips away from hers and move on to kiss her neck. She smells like soap and conditioner and every time I inhale the scent of her, I become a little more delirious. I move my lips down to her collarbone and she bites her bottom lip to hold back a hushed moan. _

_ “Should we stop?” She whispers to me, completely out of breath. _

_ And for a moment, I think I’m going to say no. But when she talks, I can still kind of smell the strong fruitiness of the alcohol on her breath. Even past the scent of Belgian waffles and whipped cream and chocolate chips, the alcohol is still there… _

I went and slept in my mother’s room after that. I told her that she was right and we should stop because she was drunk and I thought it would be awkward between the two of us, but it wasn’t. She clutched my blankets to her bare chest and grabbed her shirt from the floor where she tossed it and put it back on. I put mine back on, too. And told her that I’d see her in the morning. She asked me where I was going and I told her that I was going to sleep in my mom’s bed to give her more room but the truth was that I needed to separate beds because I had all these feelings racing through me. I had all this anticipation and heat building up in me the way Santana said it was supposed to. And I knew that if she had reached over again in the middle of the night and so much as touched me, it would go further than just a heavy makeout session without our shirts on. I wasn’t strong enough to rebuff her a second time.

I’m not sure how much of last night she actually remembers because we didn’t mention it. I woke up this morning and looked at the clock on mom’s nightstand and saw that it was 11:30. And then I remembered that I had her across the hall in my room. So I grabbed my phone and I texted her to see if she was up yet and she responded that she was.

In those few hazy moments between me being half-awake and then fully awake, I couldn’t remember if what happened last night was real. It was a crazy night, filled with me ingesting LSD and making out with Santana and I started to think that maybe what happened with me and her was just some sort of dream. But I rolled out of Mom’s bed and walked down to the hall to the bathroom and when I looked in the mirror, my shirt was on backwards. And I knew then that what happened between me and her was very real.

We didn’t mention it, though. I went to my bedroom and found her lying in bed scrolling through her phone and I laid down beside her with my head on the same pillow and watched her. We went through her Facebook timeline together until I finally asked if she wanted breakfast. And then we ate some of those frozen pancakes that come in the plastic baggie. And we watched the Lifetime Movie channel until she decided it was time for her to go home so her dads wouldn’t worry. And that was it. No mention of us kissing, no mention of our shirts being off.

I am nervous to see her tomorrow after knowing what we did, but I’m also kind of banking on her not remembering. She was drunk, after all. I can’t remember exactly how long it took for me to start remembering what happened the night me and Puck did what we did. It came back in bits and pieces and it took a really long time.

“In darkness she is allllll I see…” I’m on my last section of hair to straighten and it seems fitting because it’s the last part of the song. I can’t hear because my headphones are still in my ears, but I see through my mirror that my door is slowly swinging open.

I rip my headphones out of my ears and turn around so quickly that my knee hits my mirror.

“Get out,” I say just as quickly as I turned around.

“Was that you singing?” She pushes my door open all the way and comes inside even though I just told her to get out. “You sound really good Quinnie, are you practicing for… choir club or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s called Glee club and I told you to get out.”

“I remember you and Frannie used to sing that song in on Sunday mornings while I made lunch when we got back from church. You remember that? You used to sit on the counter and help me put butter on the slices of bread for the grilled cheese. Remember?” 

She sits down on my bed and crosses her legs. She’s still dressed up so she must have just gotten home. Her hair is just as blonde as mine and it’s pulled up into a very elegant looking bun with pieces of hair left out and curled at her sideburns. Her dress is olive green and sparkly with a low-cut neckline. And she’s wearing the pearl necklace Dad bought her for their anniversary three years ago. 

_ Of course I remember. I’m not stupid. That was one of the times where I was actually happy…  _ “Yeah,” I sit down on the bed beside her but still far enough so that she knows I mean business. “We used to sing that and some other song… you know, that one… that one that goes —“

“Easy like Sunday morning,” she laughs and puts her hand on my kneecap. “Ah, I miss those times. I miss when you girls were my babies.”

I sigh and put my head down.  _ I miss those times, too. Dad worked every Sunday so he would drop us off back at home after church and head to the office for a few hours. Frannie and me would race upstairs to take our church clothes off so we could go help Mom with lunch. And I had not a care in the world… _

It sucks now though because the older I get the more I realize just how tainted my family memories are. Like for instance, Dad’s office was never open on Sundays. So he’d drop me and my mom and my sister off at the home he made with us and speed off to Cleveland to go bone his accountant, Tess. And then he’d come home hours later to eat the freaking pot roast that Mom made for dinner. And I never quite understood why Mom would cry when she found red lipstick on the collar of his suit. Back then, I just thought that she should be more careful when she kissed him. I knew dry cleaning was expensive, but it was her own fault for getting lipstick all over him.

“You wanna know something?” She asked, squeezing my knee. I pick my head up and look at her. “...When you were pregnant… I used to think about how I was going to get to do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Sing on Sundays,” she sighs and wraps her arm around my shoulder. I scoot a little closer… “There was a lot of things I was excited to give her… to give Beth, I mean. I was gonna sing on Sundays after church again. And remember your white and pink baby blanket? The one Frannie used and then you used…? I was gonna give that to her, too.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I think I might cry. But I’m not sure. I can’t tell because my eyes aren’t stinging. “I didn’t… think about that. I didn’t think that… that you would even… I mean, I didn’t think… I…”

“Shh,” she rubs my shoulder. “I know, I know. You don’t have to explain.” For the first time in a long time, my mom presses her lips to my temple.

_ We’re having a moment. If I say what I want to say right now, it’ll probably ruin everything. But she deserves to know, doesn’t she? If it were Beth, I’d want to know… I’d want to know if my baby was struggling with something like this… _

“Hey Mom, you remember Puck? Or… Noah, I mean…” I start and I feel brave enough to say it to her, I do. I feel brave enough…

“Beth’s father?”

“Umm… yeah, yeah, him,” I nod. “So look, when we…” I bite my lip and look up at her. Her eyes are tired and she has worry lines all over her face. If I say this to her, I will break her. She’ll go all crazy and start crying and she’ll wonder why I didn’t tell her sooner. And she’ll probably call my dad and tell him that we need to talk to the lawyer. And she’ll hold me and she’ll cry into my neck and tell me that she’s sorry… if I tell her this… it’ll completely break her… “...I just wanted to say that we would’ve gotten married.”

“Oh, Quinnie,” she squeezes me tight and I must admit that it kind of feels good. “I wouldn’t have wanted that for you. I would’ve wanted you to be a kid.”

“...Are you back with Dad?” I ask her, partially out of curiosity but mostly because I need to change the subject or else she’ll know I just lied. “And you don’t have to lie. You can tell me.”

“Your father and I…” she sighs. “It’s complicated. It’s hard to just throw away someone you love. I’m sorry if we hurt you, okay? I didn’t want you to find out the way you did. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want it to throw off your recovery. Because my main focus is getting you well again, I swear. We should have told you.  _ I  _ should have told you.”

“Promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“...Promise me that you won’t let him do it again. Promise me you won’t let him… you won’t let him hit you again.”

She is stunned to complete silence. As a tear rolls down my cheek, I look at her again and she’s not looking me in the eye but that’s okay. I’m looking at the scar on the side of her mouth that he put there the time she hit her with rings on his fingers. I saw that one. Me and Frannie both did. And Frannie, like the knight in shining armor that she is, threw herself in the middle of them when she saw him going after her again. I watched on the staircase, shaking in tears. I watched as he pushed her to the side and raised his hand at our mother again, knowing that we were watching. And I swear, I think the only thing that made him stop was hearing Frannie say, “Daddy, stop.”

Sometimes I don’t understand how two conflicting things can be true.

How me and Frannie could count on him for anything, but nothing at the same time. How me and Frannie could lie on his chest and fall asleep at a baseball game and know that we’re completely safe, but the same hands that put us to bed are the same ones that shattered plates in the middle of an argument. How the same man who used to give us piggyback rides out in the front yard could also be the same man who slammed the door in my face. I don’t know how two things can be true at the same time…

But then I think about how I hate her and love her at the same time and I wonder if it’s anything like that.

“Mom…?” I call her name after it’s been silent for a few moments. And I try the tactic I learned in therapy with Jessica. I learned that saying something difficult is sometimes easier when you’re looking at something funny. So I look at the plastic flower on my windowsill that dances when the sun hits the solar panels on it. I lock in on that. I concentrate on that.

“Yes, sweetheart?

_ Just think about Beth… if it were Beth…. I would want to know… _

“...Noah Puckerman raped me.”


	22. Piece By Piece

_ October 15 _

_ I think it’s strange how everyone at McKinley loves each other, but nobody actually likes each other. _

_ I thought that coming back to school today after homecoming weekend would be different. I thought that everyone would remember the energy at Puck’s party and get along. Like how the jocks were playing beer pong with the band geeks and everyone in Glee club felt like members of the popular kids. I thought that would all bleed over into school and McKinley High’s clique problem would be solved. That was wishful thinking. _

_ For the most part, everybody acted like homecoming weekend never happened. The band geeks were back to getting their faces shoved into toilets and Artie was slushied early this morning by one of Karofsky’s friends. I was sad because I was really hoping that the world at school would be at peace, but I was still looking forward to seeing Rachel because something between us had surely changed. _

_ She sat with us at breakfast, which was unusual because she usually sat with Finn. She carried her bagel and orange juice over to where me, Mercedes and Tina we’re sitting, and plopped down next to us. At first, I thought I was going to have to excuse myself to the bathroom because all I could think about when I looked at her was the way her tongue felt inside of my mouth. But it was clear right off the bat that she didn’t even remember the kiss, which made me feel sad. I thought at first that I would feel relieved that she didn’t remember the kiss, but I was wrong. _

_ She sat with us again at lunch and I offered her some of my water. She forgot to grab a carton of milk and didn’t want to go stand back in line for it, so I offered her a few sips of my water. She didn’t take it, which felt more like rejection than anything I’ve ever felt. I knew then that she really didn’t remember the kiss and probably didn’t remember anything else from that night. I looked across the cafeteria and saw Santana sitting alone and I almost went over and sat with her but I didn’t because I remembered that she didn’t want us to mention what happened at the party. So she sat alone for the entire lunch period, occasionally sneaking glances at Brittany and the way she was sitting on a football player’s lap. _

_ I don’t get how everyone can just ignore the things that happened at Puck’s party. Everyone is doing such a good job at pretending like those things never happened that I start to wonder if maybe I’m the weird one for thinking that things were going to change. _

_ I was excited for Glee club today, but I’m not anymore. _

_ I just want to go home today. _

* * *

_ October 16 _

_ I wonder what Bailey is going to say today when I tell her that I told mom.  _

_ I thought about opening up the session with admitting that I lied to her and telling her the truth, that I kissed Rachel. But I think she’ll be more interested in hearing about me telling my mother about me and Puck. _

_ Maybe she’ll tell me that she’s proud of me. _

* * *

I watch the clock as the bright red hand that measures the seconds rolls back up to the top and makes the minutes hand inch to the right just a little. I’ve only been sitting here for three minutes but it already feels like it’s been an eternity.

I thought that seeing her today would be like seeing her over the weekend but for some reason, it feels different today. Like she’s a totally different Bailey. And I know she’s the same, I know that. Her wispy brunette hair falls just past her shoulders the way it always has and she’s still super thin and lanky. She has the same tortoise shell glasses that she’s had since the day I met her and her calming aura is still the same. But there’s something about her now, sitting across from me at a school desk, that just feels… off.

I had a long list of things I wanted to tell her about but now my mind is empty. And all I can do is stare at the way her fingernails all slope evenly. And wait for time to be up so she can dismiss me back to class. I’ll only have one class left to get through once I leave here, and then I’m off to Glee club. Glee club is good. Glee club is familiar. Glee club is safe. We’re working on our numbers for sectionals next week and it’s been a nice distraction.

“You’re quiet today,” Bailey’s voice is soft as she tries to nudge me into speaking. I’m not trying to be quiet and I’m not purposely giving her the silent treatment. It’s just that I have nothing in my mind that I want to say. It’s like someone opened my skull, plucked my brains out, and decided to keep it. “Is everything okay?”

“Mhm,” I nod my head. Underneath the desk, I pick at the small scratch on my leg that I accidentally put there while I was shaving on Sunday night. “Just kinda tired.”

“I hear you on that.” She rummages through her briefcase in search of something and I don’t know what that something is until she puts a stack of plain white paper and a package of colored pencils on the desk between us. My eyebrows wrinkle and she picks up on it. “For your hands,” she motions under the table. “I notice that you fidget a lot when you’re nervous about something. And I don’t want you to make yourself bleed, so. Draw me a picture. Keep your hands busy.”

My fingers slowly trade my razor cut for a colored pencil. I pick up one single piece of paper and an orange colored pencil and start drawing a pumpkin that looks more like an apple than anything.

“Jessica used to do this for me,” I grin at the memory of her. Man, do I miss her sometimes… “She noticed that I would bite or pick at my nails or my clothes or my hair whenever we had our sessions. She started bringing me things. Like puzzles or paper or fidget spinners to keep my hands busy.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard you talk about Jessica in a while,” she says as she picks up her own piece of paper and a black colored pencil. “Do you ever miss her?”

“Miss her?”

“Yeah, do you ever? And it’s okay, you can tell me. I won’t be sad or anything. I’ve heard that she’s an excellent therapist.”

“She was really great,” I stop drawing for a moment just so I can really take a second to think about what I want to say. I’ve really come to like Bailey over the last few sessions we’ve had together and I would hate to hurt her feelings. “I think she was just what I needed in that moment, y’know?”

“Explain?” She doesn’t look up when she asks me to. She just adds some whiskers to the black cat she’s drawing.

“I just mean that… that she was what I needed, which is why she seemed so great. I never had somebody that just listened and didn’t judge until I got put into therapy. And I just needed someone who would listen and care. She was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life.”

“I see,” she nods and picks up a brown colored pencil next. “So. Are we gonna talk about the homecoming game and the party or do you wanna talk about something else?”

“Well aren’t you supposed to be counseling me? I thought the deal was that I spill my guts Saturday for you to counsel me today. So… counsel.”

“Yeah, I have a few things I could say about what happened at the party and stuff but this is your therapy session. We talk about whatever  _ you _ want to talk about. There’s no time limit on me helping you, Quinn. I can do my job at any time. I just want to make sure I have all the pieces of the puzzle before I try to put you back together again.”

“All the pieces of the puzzle…?”

“Yep,” she nods some more. “I’m gonna fix you. But I just need you to keep talking until I have all the pieces.”

I finish scribbling the orange to fill in my pumpkin, then start to search for a dark green colored pencil so I can work on the stem. “...I told my mom.”

“Told your mom what?”

“...About Puck.”

Just as she was about to grab a red colored pencil, her hand freezes, hovered over the box. She stays like that for a few seconds and I swear, I can physically see the gears twisting in her head as she thinks about what to say next. She eases the colored pencil out of the box and looks up at me through her eyelashes. I hold her gaze so that she knows I’m serious because for some reason, I think Bailey thinks that I lie to her sometimes. Jessica was really big on me making eye contact when we spoke. It’s hard to keep my eyes locked into Bailey’s, but I do it.

“That’s a big step, Quinn,” she tries to focus on coloring her cat but she just can’t. So eventually she puts the red pencil down and gives up. “What made you want to tell her?”

“I don’t know, it just… it felt like the thing to do,” I grab the black colored pencil next and start making a face on my pumpkin. It’s so much easier to talk to her while I’m distracted, I find. “She came into my room last night and she told me about her and my dad, finally. She told me that they’re sort of seeing each other again but not officially, or whatever. And it went well, actually. We didn’t scream at each other or argue. And she hugged me and kissed me for the first time in such a long time, so I just told her. It was… easy, actually. It was like I wanted her to know. Deep down somewhere I wanted her to know.”

“And what did she say? How did she react to being told that?”

“I thought she was okay at first. I didn’t really want to tell her at first because I thought it would… break her? Maybe? I dunno. My mom is just really emotional sometimes. And she’s been through a lot. So I didn’t want to tell her something that was going to upset her when it seemed like she was so happy. But she seemed okay at first. I told her and then she took her arms from around me, which made me feel… bad, I guess? Like she didn’t believe me. She was hugging me one second and then after I said it, she just stopped. And then she got up off the bed — we were sitting on my bed, I mean — and she kinda like… got on her knees in front of me. She knelt down in front of me and made me hold her hands. And she asked me to repeat myself. She said, ‘Quinnie, I’m not sure I heard you right.’ And I started crying. Like, really crying too. But not because I was sad or anything it was mostly because…because saying it out loud made it… it made it feel… like… like…”

“Made it feel real?” Bailey grabs a package of travel tissues from her briefcase and hands them to me without saying a word about the tears falling from my eyes. I like that about her. She never makes a big deal out of seeing me cry.

“Yeah. It made it feel real. Saying it out loud made it feel real, I guess. So anyway, yeah. I started crying and she started rubbing my hands. Real soft like she would have done if I was still a toddler or something. And she was all ‘Are you sure?’ And that kind of made me mad but I didn’t freak out or anything. I just nodded my head but I felt kind of bad because… because I’m not really sure. I’m not sure. I just think that —“

“Time out,” she holds her hands up. “Why are you not sure that you were raped?”

I flinch at the way she says the word so surely. It feels like a dirty word that infiltrates my brain every time she says it. When that word falls on my ears, it makes me feel dirty. And then I want to go home and take a shower but the joke is on me because even when I get out of the shower, I still feel dirty. I don’t like the way that word makes me feel.

“It’s just not that easy for me,” I mumble.

“Quinn, time out. Okay? Time out. I want you to look at me.” Her voice is strong and harsh, like she means business. I look at her through misty eyes and try my best not to look away. “You. Were raped. In every sense of the word. What that boy did to you was rape, and it was very wrong. Do you understand me?”

I look away from her eyes and down at the floor. I pretend to be very interested in my dark and light brown moccasins.

“You were intoxicated, unable to give consent. And that boy knew that. It’s the reason he kept giving you more and more alcohol. You were impaired mentally and physically and you did not want anything sexual to happen. You —“

“But I never said no! I never told him no and I never pushed him away or screamed for help! And for god’s fucking sake, I still talk to him! Like who does that? Who in their right mind still…  _ talks  _ to their rapist. And I smiled at him! I fucking smiled at him and I see him in the hallways and I say hi! Who… does that? Who talks to and smiles at their rapist…? I… don’t get that. I don’t get myself…” I sniff and put my head down on the desk. “But you and every therapist I talk to are so hell-bent on saying that it was rape, and I don’t get it.”

“You don’t get to punish yourself because you’re not the perfect victim,” she puts her head down too so it’s as if we’re on the same level. “This isn’t a movie, Quinn. This is real life. This isn’t something that some movie producer is making happen for dramatic purposes. This is real life. This is  _ your  _ life. And in real life, the girls don’t always say no. They don’t always scream for help. And in the cases where they still have to see their rapist every day, they might be cordial. Because being angry with the man who did this to them is too exhausting.”

She waits a few awkward moments for me to say something back. But I don’t have anything to actually say. I wish we didn’t have to keep talking about this. I thought if I just agreed and said that yes, Puck raped me, that we could just be done with it and move on because it’s not some big thing that I need to rehash over and over. But nobody seems to let it go.

“Quinn, I’d like to take you out this Friday night.” Her voice is firm and serious, which makes my head pop up. 

I have a bad headache from crying my eyes out the way I just did and I’m just not sure I heard that correctly. “...What?!”

“This Friday night, you and me. I wanna take you out. I know this great Italian place downtown where we could be alone. And then maybe afterwards we could go down to the SweetFrog and get dessert. Come on. What do you say?” she tilts her head.

“I… I have Glee club Friday and I can’t miss. It’s mandatory since sectionals are next week.”

“Well what about after? Glee club is over by like, what? 5:00? I could pick you up around 6:30.”

“I’m going to Mercedes’ after so we can practice some more and I’m probably going to stay over there. I think Tina and Rachel will be there too so we’re making a big thing out of it.”

“How about Saturday? Come on, I just really want to take you out.”

I can literally feel my cheeks turning bright red and I feel embarrassment creeping up inside of me.  _ Is she serious…? I mean I’m trying to let her down gently and tell her that she’s way too old for me and even if she wasn’t, I think the only girl I like is Rachel… and I’m so not sure if I’m gay and I think that it might be illegal because I’m only seventeen and… where the hell is this coming from!? I was just starting to like her… please don’t tell me I have to get another therapist. I already told her so much… _

“I’m sorry, I’m just really busy all weekend,” my voice cracks as a fresh round of tears might actually fall. “I have a lot going on with sectionals.”

Bailey leans back in her chair and takes her glasses off. She folds them and puts them on the desk and crosses her arms over her chest. “...Do you see what you just did?”

“I… What?” I’m still trying to figure her out but I’m really honestly struggling here. I’m about to get up and walk out because I don’t think this session is what I need right now. I just told my mother that I was raped or whatever and I really need advice, I don’t need her hitting on me.

“All those ways you just politely told me no without actually saying the word.”

_ She was… kidding? This was a lesson? ...Screw her! My heart just fell into my butt! _

“I’m leaving,” I roll my eyes at her and start gathering my things.

“Sit down, Quinn. We still have twenty minutes left. You can be mad at me all you want but I think it worked, didn’t it?”

“Whatever,” I mumble.

“I asked you out and you told me no. You didn’t expressly say the word ‘no’, but you told me over and over that you didn’t want to go out with me. Did you not? There are a thousand ways to say no. Just because you weren’t crying and begging him to stop doesn’t mean that your ‘no’ was any less effective. You’re putting the blame on yourself and that’s not fair. I won’t let you do that. It’s not up to you to make sure you don’t get raped. It was up to Noah to not rape you. When you asked him to just go back to kissing, that should have been his flag to stop.”

“I know…” I whisper.

“You know?”

“...I mean, yeah. I went through all of this already with Jessica and… and I know what happened with Puck was wrong. I know the sex we had was —“

“The rape.”

“Huh?”

“Stop calling it sex. If you’re ever going to make it through this, you have to call it what it was.”

“Oh. Well… the… rape. I know it was bad and it was wrong. But… but I just don’t want that to be me. You know? I told my mom because I thought she should know. Jessica told me I could tell her whenever I felt like it was a good time and it felt like a good time to tell her, so I did. And I want to tell my friends, too. Tina and Mercedes. Rachel… I think Rachel already knows, kind of. She put the pieces together. But I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want that to be all everyone sees when they look at me. And I think that’s all my mom sees now.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is! Mom’s been just looking at me randomly since I told her. She got on her knees in front of me and asked me to repeat myself and I did. I told her again. I said the words out loud. I said ‘Noah Puckerman raped me’ and put her face into my lap and started crying. But she pulled it together so I thought she was fine, but then she went down to the kitchen and made me donuts. The kind that you make from the can of biscuits. She only made them when we were sick when I was little and she made them again and I don’t want donuts, okay?! I don’t want donuts. I just want her to know that I was raped and I want her to keep treating me the way she’s always been. Because if she keeps making me donuts and touching my hair at random moments and constantly asking me if I’m okay or having secret phone calls in the hallway with my dad or driving me to school or SLEEPING IN THE BED WITH ME, all I’m going to do is remember that she’s acting this way because I was raped and I just want to forget! I want to forget about it. But she won’t let me. And if it’s that way at home… if I’m constantly being reminded at home that I was raped by the guy I got pregnant to, then why would I want to tell my friends? It’s bad enough my mom looks at me like I’m a baby bird about to break its wings now. Why would I want my friends to look at me like that too?”

“So you’re going to hold it in? You’re going to hold it in because you don’t want the people who love you to hurt for you? Because that’s what they’re doing, Quinn. They’re hurting for you. I know you said this topic is off limits, but I’m supposed to help you and I can’t help you if there are things that we need to talk about but you won’t allow me to talk about.”

“Don’t you dare,” I speak to her through clenched teeth because I already know who she’s about to ask about. And I’m making progress in therapy, I can feel that. I feel so much lighter after talking to Bailey these days and there are some things that I want to bottle up the way I did before I went to Pennsylvania, but I don’t bottle them up anymore. I talk to her about them. So I know I’m making progress. But I’m not ready to talk about her yet, I can’t handle talking about her. I can only handle one thing at a time. “I mean it, I swear to god I’ll leave.”

“If your daughter had just told you that she was raped —“

“I’m leaving and I mean it this time,” I stand up and pick up the books I brought here because I was so excited to see Bailey today that I didn’t stop at my locker to drop them off. “I’ll see you next week. And sorry about my language today.”

* * *

_ October 16 _

_ I’m going to call Bailey tomorrow and ask if we can have another session on Saturday. _

_ I feel bad for the way things ended today because it’s not her fault that my head is so messed up that I get angry when I can’t get control over it. I don’t think she’s going to hold a grudge for the way I slammed out of our session today, but I know that she’s going to ask about Beth next session and I guess that’s okay. Now that I’m calmed down over the initial reaction of talking about her, I’m willing to try. _

_ Yesterday was a whirlwind. I told mom <strike>about </strike> _ <strike>_what_ _happened between me and Puck _</strike> _ that Puck raped me and ever since then, she’s been acting weird. She’s been checking on me at random moments throughout the day and she’s been asking me if I’m okay more than usual. I keep telling her that I’m okay and I thought maybe I’d feel bad for lying to her about me being okay but I realize that it doesn’t really feel like a lie to say that. The truth is that I am okay. I’m not perfect, but I’m fine right now which is more than I can usually say about myself. She dropped me off at school yesterday and waited in the parking lot until I got in. It’s almost like she thinks that Puck is going to do it again and she can stop it this time, which feels weird. She let me take my car to school today but I could tell that she was upset about not dropping me off. She tried to sleep in the bed with me again last night but I told her that I was fine and needed my space and she let me. It was just weird because after I told her about it on Sunday, she cried for a few minutes and then she held me. And I wanted to tell her to get off of me, but it kind of felt good the way she was holding me so I let it go. And we fell asleep just like that. She didn’t change out of her dress and she didn’t take her makeup off. She just laid in my bed with me with her arms around my waist all night and when I woke up Monday morning for school, I could tell that she cried herself to sleep. I fell asleep before her so I didn’t hear it, but the mascara streaks on her cheeks told the story. _

_ Bailey told me that she’s just acting so strangely because she’s hurting for me and I guess that makes sense. I want her to act normal. I didn’t tell her just so she could act weird about me and I didn’t tell her because I wanted sympathy. I told her because I wanted her to know this about me just so she could understand why I’m not always jumping to see Puck. I want her to act like I never told her a thing but she’s not and though it’s kind of annoying, I’m trying to understand it because I don’t know how I would react had it been Beth who told me something so ugly. _

_ Does it make me crazy if I don’t want Puck to go to jail? I know that it probably won’t ever happen because I don’t ever want to press charges (I’m not even sure if I can. It’s been so long) and I don’t want him to get into trouble. Doesn’t that make me crazy? Shouldn’t a sane person want their rapist to be punished? Maybe I’m insane after all. _

_ Today in glee club, Rachel sat next to Finn again and I’ve been holding back tears ever since then. I thought for sure that I meant something to her, so I kept the seat beside me open and she didn’t even sit in it. I did, however, notice that she pushed him away when he tried to put his arm around her. I’m not sure what that means, though. _

_ I tried to talk to Santana today, too. But she just ignored me. _

_ I’m starting to think that Puck’s party was all just a figment of my imagination. _

_ I invited Mercedes over today to cheer myself up. I wanted to invite rachel over too, but I thought that it might hurt too much so I stuck to just Mercedes. _

* * *

“What did you get for number three?” Mercedes asks.

I put my calculator down and flip the page of my notebook back to the previous one where number three’s answer is. “I got 54. But I could be wrong.”

“I got 53, but the answer can’t be an odd number so I think you’re right.” She erases her answer and jots down mine instead. “I have something to ask you…”

_ Oh god, what is it?  _ “Yep?”

“So… you know how we have to pick roommates for when we go to Hershey for sectionals next week?”

“Uh-Huh,” I nod and punch a few numbers into my calculator.

“I was wondering if you would be mad if I bunked with Tina.”

“Why?”

“Because… okay, look. I know we just assumed that you and me would bunk together automatically because it’s what we do. Everyone assumed that me and you would bunk together. Even I assumed. But Tina doesn’t have anyone and so I was thinking —“

“No, not why would you bunk with Tina. Why would you think I’d be mad?”

“Because we’re best friends...?”

“You can room with Tina, I don’t care. I just… I’ll let Mr. Schue assign mine.” I shrug like it doesn’t bother me but really, it does.  _ Why is she picking Tina over me? Now who am I going to room with? _

“Rachel wanted to room with you anyway, so it works out…” Mercedes tries her best to make her voice sound all nice.

I put my calculator down instantly. “Rachel what?”

“We were talking today in chem and she said she wanted to room with you for sectionals. Tina doesn’t have anyone to room with and Rachel wants my go-to roommate so it just makes sense…”

“I have to room with Rachel?”

“Well you don’t have to, but I thought you two would want to, since… you know…”

“Wait, she told you?!”

“Told me what?”

“That we kissed?

“You kissed Rachel?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Quinn’s journals this chapter seem a little spacey and like she jumps from one thing to the next without any clarity, but I promise it’s for a reason. And also, there’s a reason she refuses to talk about Beth in therapy and you’ll see why eventually. I just don’t want it to be irritating that she freaks out every time Beth is mentioned. There’s a reason for that and I’m getting to it. :)


	23. Momma’s Prayers

I have never wanted to run and hide as much as I want to run and hide right here, right now. It’s like ever since I came home from Pennsylvania, I’ve been living and existing in total darkness. And it’s darkness unlike I’ve ever felt before, but it’s not lonesome. It’s comfortable. Because in the darkness, nobody can see me. I’m free to do whatever I please. 

I can eat my weight in junk food and throw it up in the darkness. I can lurk on Facebook and stare at pictures of my daughter until I cry so much I pass out in the darkness. I can stare at her brunette hair and pale pink lips and fantasize about how it feels to kiss them in the darkness. I can be every part of me… the bulimic, the Facebook stalker, the lesbian… I can be anything I want to be in complete darkness like that. Some might call it hiding, but I choose to call it solace.

But now, I want to run and hide. Because someone came in, turned all the lights on, and now I’m visible. All those parts of me that I wanted to lay low and hide can suddenly be seen. All the lights are on everywhere and no matter where I turn, there is no more safe place to hide. That’s what I feel like.

I suck on my bottom lip and look down at my notebook that has a half-answered math equation on it, just to avoid looking at her. I feel her looking at me. Her eyes feel like they’re pulling away layers of my clothing and she won’t stop until I’m naked. And my hand shakes. Uncontrollably, too. I couldn’t stop it from shaking even if I wanted to. Before I know it, my jaw is shaking just like my hand and my vision gets all blurry as tears collect in the rim of my eyes.

_ What did I just do? What did I just say? I don’t even know how to clean this up. I can’t backtrack. I can’t act like I didn’t just say what we both know I said. I don’t know how to fix this… _

“Mercedes,” her name comes out of my mouth in the form of a whisper but it feels like my voice is going to crackle into pieces and shatter on the floor. “Mercedes…” It’s like I forgot how to say anything other than her name. _ Am I not capable of forming words anymore? _“Mercedes…”

“Whoa, Quinn,” she closes her math book in a quick instant and shuffles over to me. And I start to cry just as she wraps her arms around me and encases me in the warmest hug I’ve ever had. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to… I’m not judging you if that’s what you think… okay? Just… just breathe, okay? Breathe. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to sound… I mean I didn’t know. I didn’t know, that’s all. I didn’t know.”

I’m stiff and rigid as her arms are draped over me like a coat keeping me warm in the middle of winter. She’s hugging me but I’m not letting myself be hugged. And when I feel the tears roll off my cheeks and splash down onto my bare kneecaps, I loosen up a bit. Because letting her hug me might actually make me feel better. I loosen up and let my head fall against her shoulder. 

“You can tell me if you want,” she keeps her arms around me but looks straight ahead and this is just another one of the many reasons why I love Mercedes. 

She remembers how to handle me from way back when I stayed with her while I was pregnant. I remember telling her once that I don’t like to be gawked at when I cry. She brought me bacon with a side of Nutella and I started crying because somehow she knew I was craving that exact meal without me telling her. She stood in the doorway and looked at me when I cried and I got so mad that I cried even harder and that’s when I told her that I don’t like to be looked at while I cry. She remembers that. And I’m reminded once again why this girl is totally and completely and eternally my best friend.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says, clearing her throat. “But you can tell me if you want.”

_ If I were ever going to tell somebody, it would be her. And maybe Santana, but Santana doesn’t count. She’s my best friend. I should be able to tell her, shouldn’t I? I wouldn’t even be freaking out about telling her if I was disclosing that I kissed a boy. It wouldn’t be a big deal if I kissed a boy… I would have told her that night if I kissed a boy… _

“...I liked it.” As soon as I admit that, floodgates open and more tears just roll down my cheeks and they’re so thick and hot and plentiful that I’m starting to wonder how my tear ducts are even producing them anymore. I’m crying so much I should run out of tears, shouldn’t I? I’m going to get dehydrated.

“I brought her here so she could sleep it off and we were, okay? We were going to go to sleep but she just kept asking me all these questions. She kept asking me all these questions about what I would do if I wanted to kiss someone and I basically told her to just go for it. And she kissed me and I’m just really freaking confused, okay? I’m so confused because I liked it. I really, really liked it…”

“Okay,” she says softly, nodding her head. “So do you like her?”

“...Yeah,” I shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, I do. And not in the way I’m supposed to like her, either. I like her in… the other way.”

“The way Santana likes Brittany.”

“Yes.”

She takes a long, drawn out deep breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling very loudly. Her entire body moves in tune with her inhaling and exhaling, too. It’s like a big, long sigh that she just took, only more dramatic. She says nothing after her sigh and I say nothing either. We both just sit here on the edge of my bed, bodies touching and silence saying more than words could ever. My head has a home on her shoulder and her arm has a home around my body. I’ve stopped crying but having her comfort me feels too good to give this moment up.

As hard as it was for me to admit what I just did, it feels like a ten pound weight was just lifted off my shoulders and thrown into the garbage can. I’m not sure exactly what I expected from Mercedes, but it wasn’t anything less than this. In my heart of hearts, I knew that she wouldn’t care. I knew that she would offer me nothing less than love and support which is a double-edged sword, in a way. Mostly, it makes me feel stupid for not telling her in the first place but it also makes me feel good because at least I’m not carrying this around on my own anymore.

“So…” she starts after taking another deep breath. “What was it like?” I lift my head up off her shoulder and look at her with a wrinkled eyebrow. “Oh, come on. I want details. Down to the nitty gritty. Down to the dirty. I want all the details. What was it like? Was it all…romantic and passionate? Or was it like, quick? Tongue or no tongue?”

“Seriously?” I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. I sniffle and wipe the rest of my tears away with the backs of my hands. _ Am I really about to gush? Am I really about to talk about my first kiss with Rachel with someone? Like it’s normal? Like… like I just kissed my crush and my best friend is cheering me on? _

“Oh, I’m serious. Spill. I want to know everything.”

“Okay,” I’m smiling so hard that my cheeks kind of hurt. “So… you know how when you’re watching a movie and the boy and the girl ease in super slowly until their lips touch?”

“Uh-huh,” she stands up and repositions herself so she’s lying on my bed now, down on her stomach.

I fold my legs, grab onto my pink fuzzy pillow, and start stroking the fuzz downward. _ This feels so… normal. It feels like I’m about to tell her about kissing a boy. I feel like a normal teenage girl… thank god. _

“Well that’s totally not what it was like,” I laugh and so does Mercedes. “She like, attacked me. So we laying in bed and we were talking, right? And she just like, started asking me all these questions. She was like ‘Quinn, what would you do if you really wanted to kiss someone but you didn’t know if they wanted to kiss you?’ And so stupid me, thinking that she was talking about like, Finn or something, was like ‘Just go for it next time you get a chance!’ And so she just kissed me! I was mid-sentence and BAM!”

“Oh my god,” she whispers with a face-eating smile. “She has balls!”

“I know! It shocked the hell out of me, too! So I pushed her away and was like ‘Dude, what the hell!’ And then she was like ‘Do you hate me?’ And I told her no, because I didn’t. I wasn’t mad I was just caught off guard. So then she kissed me again!”

“Wait, WHAT?! No way!”

“Way! And then that’s when things got steamy…”

“Was it a good kiss?”

“It was a good kiss…” I look down and blush with my eyes closed. “It was a GREAT kiss, actually.”

“So what do you mean by steamy?” She leans a little closer to me and I can tell she’s really on the edge of her seat with this one.

“Mercedes, I don’t kiss and tell,” I tease, winking at her.

“Oh, bull_ shit _, you’re not about to leave me hanging!” She sits up and whacks me in the arm with a pillow. “Spill! Now!” I purse my lips together, close my eyes and shake my head. “Come on! Spill! Spill or I won’t tell you what me and Sam did yesterday night after Glee club.”

“Wait, back up. You and Sam did something?!”

_ God this feels so good. This feels SO good. I feel like normal Quinn again. And I really thought that would never happen… please god keep this feeling. I don’t want this to end… _

“Me and Sam did something,” she grins and looks away from me, refusing to make eye contact.

“Okay, wait! Wait, wait, wait! Why are you just now telling me?! This happened yesterday night?! After Glee club? So that means you went an entire 24 hours just holding something juicy in?! What kind of BEST FRIEND are you?! What did you do?!”

“I was gonna tell you tonight!” She covers her face all nervous and embarrassed, which makes me laugh. “If you didn’t invite me over I was gonna invite you over just so I could tell. It’s been eating me up not telling you. Honestly, it has.”

“So what did you do?! I know it wasn’t first base, that would be boring. You wouldn’t be all excited to tell me if it was just first. So was it second? Third? ...Full on home run?” I get closer and closer as I list the bases and I notice that her face gets all red and rosy when I say home run and I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. “...NO…” My jaw drops. “No, no, no! No! NO! You and SAM?! Really?!” I cup my hand over my dropped jaw. “You’re joking. You’re friggin’ joking. You’re lying!”

“Why would I lie?!” She puts her head face-down into my quilt and squeals.

I take my fuzzy pink pillow and smack her in the butt with it. “Why didn’t you tell me?! You wait an entire day to tell me?! You maxed out your V-Card and you didn’t even tell me! You should’ve called me! Like directly after! What is wrong with you?! Oh my GOD! So what was it like? Did he hurt you? Was he gentle? Where was it at? Was it awkward? Did it hurt? How long did it last? HOW did it happen?!”

“Okay,” she takes a deep breath to steady herself from laughing again and looks me in my eye. “No, yes, his house, kind of, a little and about… maybe an hour if you include the foreplay. Maybe.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” I pick up my pillow again and stuff my face into it. _ I can’t believe my best friend lost her virginity! Dear god! What is this world coming to?! _“How did it even…? Like when did you decide you were gonna…?”

“I don’t know, it just happened. I went to his house after Glee club because his parents took his little siblings to baseball practice. And we were just making out and watching a movie at first, no big deal. But it got heated and one thing led to another. It didn’t hurt as bad as I thought it was going to. It was mostly just mildly uncomfortable.”

“Did you… you know?”

“Did I what?”

“...The big O…?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I told him I did, though. I mean, I came close.”

“Are you gonna do it again?”

“Gee, I dunno, Quinn, let me just get my planner out and schedule it.”

“You know what I meant.” I flop down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, taking the moment of normalcy in. _ I missed this. I missed having girl talks with my best friend. Maybe I do have a friendship like the one in Beaches after all… _“Can I ask for a dirty detail?”

“Only if you give me the dirty details about you and freaking _ Rachel. _”

“Okay, deal,” I hold my pinky finger out and wait for her to link hers inside of mine. When she does, I ask the burning question. “Was it just the usual? Or did he go down on you?”

“Promise you won’t tell or make fun?”

“Bible,” I mumble, looking over at her.

She closes her eyes and blushes again, but she doesn’t break promises so she opens her mouth and says, “He did, but it sucked. It was too… slobbery and wet.”

“Well, with a mouth like that, I dunno what you expected.”

The two of us burst into gut-busting laughter and I know I keep saying it but it just bears repeating. I missed this so much. And I never really thought I would get to this point again. Part of me thought that I would always coexist with the sadness inside of me. I thought that I would forever hate myself and forever miss my baby and the idea of laughing like a normal junior in high school, having sex talks with my best friend just seemed so far-fetched and completely ridiculous. I never thought I’d be me again.

“Okay, your turn,” she props herself up on her elbow and looks at me. “Did you kiss Rachel with tongue or no tongue?”

“Tongue. And she’s a really great kisser,” I rest my hands on my stomach because I feel the butterflies fluttering all through it. I always get butterflies when I think of her. “We took our shirts off, too. And it was weird because I felt her skin all over mine and it was great, but the thing that really got me going was feeling her stomach all pressed up against mine. I never felt that way before. I never wanted someone so fully… I never wanted to have every inch of someone’s body like that… you know?” She nods her head and says nothing. She just listens. So I keep going. “I really thought we were gonna go all the way. I didn’t want to stop and it didn’t seem like she wanted to stop and after we took our shirts off, it seemed like the only logical step after that was to go all the way.”

“So why’d you stop then? If you didn’t want to stop and she didn’t want to stop, then why —“

“She was still drunk. And I’m not into that. The last thing I wanted was for her to wake up the next morning wondering what happened the night before because I know how bad that sucks. I just knew how I felt after me and Puck had sex and I wish someone would have given me the courtesy of stopping like that but —“

“What do you mean?”

_ Damn it, she caught that. I was hoping she wouldn’t catch that. But Mercedes is a very observant friend and I kind of knew that she would. The moment I said it I knew that she’d catch it. And well… well maybe I’m not exactly ready to tell my best friend about that just yet. Because Mercedes is one person who doesn’t look at me like the sad, pathetic girl who got raped. But I don’t want to lie to her. The only thing worse than telling her what happened would be lying to her after we’re having this amazing of a time. I just have to figure out the right combination of words… I gotta figure out how to say it. Because after saying the words out loud to mom the other day, my stomach’s been hurting and I’ve been walking around feeling dirty. _

“Quinn, did Puck do something to you?” She asks me flat out and my lips twitch because they want to say yes, but I’m not quite sure how to get that out. “He did, didn’t he?” My lips twitch again. “I knew it…” she whispers.

“How?”

“Because you’re the one girl in the entire school he doesn’t brag about sleeping with, even though everybody clearly knows he did. Something seemed odd about the entire situation.” She lies flag against my bed again and her hand slips underneath of mine. We rest palm-to-palm until I decide to interlock our fingers. “Were you drunk?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“Was he?”

“No.”

“Did you ask him to stop?”

“Yeah.”

“...That son of a bitch,” she shakes her head. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Just you. And my mom… on Sunday.”

She slowly turns her head to face me and while I don’t really want to look her in the eye because I might cry if I do, I think it’d be rude if I didn’t. So I turn my head, too. And I watch her mouth as the words roll out.

“I hate him,” she says.

* * *

“So why haven’t you and Rachel talked about the kiss?” Mercedes asks me as she picks up a mustard-colored trench coat. She holds it up and wrinkles her nose at it after looking at the price tag.

We’re not actually here to buy anything, I don’t think. After talking about everything under the sun, we finished our homework and the two of us decided that we were bored. And there’s nothing much to do around Lima besides go get something to eat, but my mom made enough steaks for Mercedes to eat dinner with us so we weren’t hungry. I don’t know why, but somehow we ended up in my car and we were driving down the highway singing at the top of our lungs like the teenage girls that we are. And we were halfway through Kelly Clarkson’s Breakaway album before we found ourselves in the parking lot of the mall.

Lima’s shopping mall is pretty crappy, if I’m being honest. Half the stores are closed down and the other half are so understaffed that you could walk out with merchandise in plain sight and not get caught. But it’s something for two seventeen-year-old girls to do on a school night without getting into trouble.

“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t remember it,” I reply, holding a white denim skirt up to my hips. “She was drunk after all. And I don’t really know how to mention it, either. I can’t exactly go up to her and be like ‘hey you kissed me last weekend, remember?’ Can I?”

“I think she does remember it,” she shrugs and heads for the hat section about five feet away from me. “We were talking about you in Chem today and it just seemed like she did.”

“Is that what you meant earlier? When you said ‘because you two, you know’...?“

“Yeah,” she puts a black and silver striped fedora on top of her head and looks at herself in the mirror. “I just meant that it seemed like you two were getting close. If I’m being honest, I was a little jealous in Chem when she talked about you. It kinda seemed like she was trying to steal my best friend.”

“How did she talk about me?” I hang the skirt back up and go for a yellow dress with little red flowers all over it. “Was it like, in a crush kinda way? Did she hint towards liking me? I know she’s not gay, but a girl can dream.”

“I mean, I don’t know,” she puts the fedora back and picks up a New York Yankees SnapBack. “It could’ve been in a crush kind of way but I wasn’t listening for it to be in a crush kind of way so I didn’t hear it in a crush kind of way. You know what I mean? Me, her, Brittany and Tina were talking about room assignments for sectionals and Brittany said that her and Santana were rooming together. Tina started talking about how she didn’t have anyone to room with since me and you were going to room together and obviously Kurt and Rachel were gonna room together.”

“But Mr. Schue said no boy-girl roommates.”

“Well yeah, but Kurt’s… Kurt. The only person he wouldn’t be allowed to room with is Blaine.”

“Good point,” I put the yellow dress back and sift through the rack for anything else that looks remotely interesting. “So then what?”

“So then Rachel was like ‘well you can room with Mercedes and I’ll room with Quinn.’ And me and Tina laughed because we both thought you hated Rachel. And Tina started making these stupid jokes. Saying that you would probably put gum in her hair while she was sleeping and stuff.”

I wince a little bit but I get it. I’ve never done anything to show anyone that I feel differently about Rachel so them feeling like I would put gum in her hair is without a doubt reasonable. I would never do anything like that to hurt her though...not anymore…

“But Rachel just started defending you and stuff,” she puts the SnapBack back on the rack and goes through the t-shirt bins. “She started saying how you’re actually really nice. And she said that you and her got ‘really close’ over the weekend. And the way she said ‘really close’ just bugged me.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about, trust me,” I sigh and wander over to the jeans. If I were going to buy something here in JC Penney, it would probably be a pair of jeans. I don’t own a lot of jeans and I’d really like to start wearing them more. I’d like to start dressing more… “gay”, if you know what I mean. “It’s kinda pathetic when you think about it.”

“What is?”

“How I’m crushing on a girl that’s not even gay,” I pick up a pair of jeans with rips on it and check the price tag. “I mean that just kinda spells heartbreak, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re selling Rachel a bit short, to be honest. Maybe she’s just not out.” She picks up a pair of really cute pink Bearclaw boots and looks at the size. “Or maybe she doesn’t think about things as much as you do.”

“Have you met Rachel Berry?” I notice how she puts the boots back after looking at the pricetag, so I pick them back up and put them in our shopping cart that only has a pair of earrings and a bag of Jelly Belly jelly beans so far. I have my mother’s credit card that my dad still pays the bill on, so we can shop all we want, in reality. “She’s like, the epitome of a straight white girl.”

“Well, so you think,” Mercedes picks up a sparkly silver belt and tries it around her waist. “But I don’t know many straight girls who kiss other girls, drunk or not.”

“She’s only ever dated guys, though. She’s never even shown interest in girls.”

“Same about you.”

“Do you seriously think that Rachel could possibly be anything but straight? I mean seriously Mercedes, get real. You don’t have to try and make me feel better by giving me false hope.” I pick up a pair of sunglasses and try them on.

“I don’t think it’s false is all I’m saying,” she puts a pair of sunglasses on too. “I can ask her if you want. I won’t make it obvious or anything. But I’ll ask her if she… maybe feels some kind of way about you. I just think it’s highly unlikely that she’s completely straight if she kissed you the way you say she did. And sexuality is like… a scale, I think. Nobody steps on it and makes it read zero. Sure there are some people who are closer to zero than others… like some people weigh 90 pounds and others weigh 190. But nobody weighs zero. Nobody steps on the gay scale and reads zero.”

“....So on a scale of one to gay, how gay are you? How close to zero are you?”

“I’d say just about as close to zero as Rachel is,” she laughs and I laugh too.

“Come on,” I say through my laugh. “Let’s go pay for this and then see what Hot Topic has to offer.”

“Alright, I’m gonna run to the bathroom. I’ll meet you at the checkout,” she says and dashes off to the bathrooms.

Still smiling from laughing, I push our shopping cart through the aisles and weave through the racks of clothes until I get to the checkout lines. And my phone buzzes where it rests in the top part of the cart right next to my wallet, so I take my eyes off the cart just long enough for me to grab it. But in that split second of me taking my eyes off steering the cart, I’ve already ran into the person standing in the checkout line in front of me.

“Oh my gosh,” I put my phone back down quickly and look up. “I am so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you okay?!”

The lady in front of me turns around fast, but she doesn’t seem angry. In fact, her voice is sweet as she says, “Oh, no, it’s okay.”

And all I see in that flash between her back being toward me and her face being toward me is a curtain of thick, shiny, chestnut brown hair flying in the hair as she turns to face me.

And I feel like someone opened up the back of my shirt and dropped several ice cubes down the back of it. The hairs on my neck stand up. And my face gets kind of hot. And my stomach starts turning into a bunch of knots until I feel like I need to run away and vomit. Only, I can’t run away and vomit because it’s like someone put Krazy Glue on the soles of my shoes. So I’m stuck standing in front of her with beads of sweat rolling down my forehead and a stomach ache that makes me feel like I’m going to throw up all over her expensive-looking, white Prada shoes.

I remember the last time I saw her… she doesn’t look much different… maybe a little more tired, with light purple bags under her eyes… but she still looks the same as the last time I saw her…

_ “And it is to be noted that as both parties agreed, a traditional open adoption is henceforth and ever more put into place with sole primary custody given to Ms. Shelby Corcoran. As agreed upon, noted in the documents signed by Lucy Quinn Fabray…” _

_ The judge’s low, monotonous voice sounds like the way all adult voices sound in those old Peanuts cartoons. The dull brown of the conference room really matches his voice. The carpet is brown and the table we’re sitting at is brown. The bookshelves behind him are brown and the chairs our butts are in are brown. Everything is brown, brown, brown. I’m trying to listen to him, I am. But my true focus and attention is less than five feet across the table… _

_ Shelby’s long brown hair is tied up into a loose ponytail, and she softly bounces the bundle swaddled neatly in a yellow blanket. The bundle stirs in her arms and whimpers and when it turns its head, I see a small tuft of hair that is light brown and curly on top. The closer the hair is to the nape of the bundle’s neck, the blonder it gets. Shelby shushes her, presses lipstick-covered lips to her little tiny pink ones and I feel like someone sucked my soul out of my body through a straw because she actually stops whimpering when Shelby does that. _

_ My chest starts to ache and the nurse in the hospital told me that it’s normal for that to happen when the baby cries. Apparently the baby crying makes my mommy hormones go all crazy and my chest starts to hurt and sometimes my boobs will even leak a little. I didn’t believe her about the leaking part. Well, up until now, that is. _

_ I fold my arms across my chest to cover the wet mark growing on my blouse. _

_ Someone should really tell my stupid mommy hormones to shut the hell up because there is no baby to nurse… _

“Quinn,” she sounds just as surprised to see me as I am to see her. _ God, I really need to throw up. _ “My God, you look great. Hi!” 

Before I can even protest, she pulls me into a tight hug and I swear, my boobs starts to hurt the way they did the last time I saw her. When she hugs me, I close my eyes. Because I saw a tiny foot dangling inside the cart behind her and when she hugs me, I can see behind her more clearly and I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see her, I don’t want to see her…. I don’t want to see her.

_ My heart feels tight. I swear to god my heart just stopped working. Is it hot in here? I’m hot. Is anybody else hot? Why is it so hot in here? Why can’t I breathe? Why is the room spinning? _

“I’ve been meaning to reach out to you to set something up,” she continues talking but it’s really just going in one ear and out the other. It’s more like she’s talking _ at _ me instead of _ to _me. “I noticed that you deleted your Facebook account and I wasn’t sure how else to get in touch with you, but Valerie — our adoption counselor — said that she could get in touch with you for me and I’ve been meaning to, but it’s just been slipping my mind.”

“Yeah, I,” the words come out of my mouth but I have to choke back the round of vomit that feels like it’s going to come out. “Deleted my Facebook, yeah. Social media just… isn’t my thing.”

“No, I totally understand. I mostly just use it to post pictures of Beth.” _ Please don’t say her name… _Shelby’s mouth continues to move so I know she’s still talking but I stop listening the second she steps aside and lets me get a good, closer look at the shopping cart behind her. I roll my eyes up to the ceiling… and say a quick prayer.

_ Dear God, please help me. Please help me get through this. Please give me the strength to get through this. Please bless me with enough strength to look at her and keep it together. Please God. I know I ask for a lot but I really need this right now. I really really need to get through this without falling apart. _

“Of course,” Shelby continues talking when I finally tune back into what she’s saying again. “We can go through each other if you want. It doesn’t have to be that formal. We don’t have to go through a counselor every time you want to see Beth, we can work something out ourselves.”

I finally stop prolonging the inevitable and allow my eyes to settle in on her. And it feels like a knife being jabbed into my heart the second I look at her.

_ Her eyes are blue, like Mom’s. That real pretty shade of blue, too. Not like a deep ocean colored blue, but like a crystal clear sky blue. And her eyelashes are super long and curly, she gets that from Puck. And I thought maybe I would hate the parts of her that she got from him, but somehow they make her even more perfect. Her nose is mine. It’s pug, but it’s long and her nostrils are narrow. And her cheeks are mine, too. They’re chubby and high. Like she stuffed a bunch of acorns in them and smiled when she did. And her blonde is blonder than mine, more golden than anything. The sides of her hair are thinner than the top and way straighter, too. The top of her hair curls up in little blonde ringlets like Frannie’s hair used to do when she was a baby. And Shelby’s got her dressed all warm in yellow footie pajamas. She looks good in yellow. Just like me. _

Her chubby fingers grip the front handle of the cart as she looks around, taking in all the sights around her. Her eyes are shiny, like they’re about to cry tears.

“Oh…” I start to say “Oh my God,” but my voice gives out and cracks after the “Oh”, so I give up. My jaw starts to tremble but to my surprise, the tears that want to fall down my cheeks don’t feel like sad tears. I still don’t let them fall, however. 

I think Shelby can tell I’m ready to cry, though. Because her hand is gentle and soft against my shoulder and she says, “Do you wanna hold her?” in the softest voice I’ve ever heard in my life.

And I think the answer is no. If I look deep down inside and let myself actually think before I give her an answer, I think the answer would be no because holding her would spark something inside of me that I had to snuff out when I signed those adoption papers. But I’m thinking with my heart and not my head, so my heart makes my head nod “yes” so fast that I get dizzy.

Shelby lifts her little body out of the cart and I can see that there’s a duck face on the butt of her onesie. The duck is what finally makes my tears fall down. I don’t know what has gotten into me, but my arms are outstretched like a little kid trying to pet a puppy that doesn’t belong to me. They’re outstretched with anticipation and excitement.

“Ooookay, Beth,” Shelby’s voice is so comforting and soothing as she hands her over to me. “This… is Quinn. You remember her? You remember how her heartbeat sounds from the inside?”

_ She’s heavy. I mean, not really. She’s not really heavy. Maybe no more than fifteen or twenty pounds, really. But she’s… she’s heavy. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that she might be heavy. That she might have weight to her… that never… crossed my mind? _

Her little body up against mine… I hold her with one arm under her butt and my hand against the middle of her back.

_ And she’s actually breathing. Like I can feel her breath against my neck while I’m holding her. _

I want her to lean against me. Maybe put her head on my shoulder or something. I want to put my lips against her head and inhale how she smells and just take in the feeling of who she is as a person. But she’s far away from me. Her hands are against my chest like she’s pushing me away from her and her chest couldn’t be any further from mine. A shiny sliver of drool drips down on my wrist and it gives me the chills.

“Ooh, sorry, sorry,” Shelby pulls a tissue from her pocket and wipes it off of me and I have never wanted to slap a woman as much as I want to slap her in that instant. “Teething, so there’s a lot of that going on.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly, careful not to alarm Beth by talking too loud. “She looks like me… like, like actually like me, not just in pictures like, like actually.”

“She does,” Shelby nods. “And like Puck a little bit, too.”

“Can I, um…” I don’t want to ever stop looking at her. Isn’t that funny? How I didn’t want to look at her at first but now I don’t ever want to stop? I peel my eyes away from her for a split second just to look at Shelby while I ask my question. “I want to kiss her… I like, really want to kiss her. Is that normal?”

“She likes kisses and cuddles. She likes kisses on her forehead or her cheek,” she smiles as she tells me. And the way she looks behind me with a greeting kind of grin lets me know that Mercedes has officially made her way back from the bathroom, but I can’t be bothered to look at her. _ I’m just so… in love… _

“Hello, Mercedes,” Shelby nods in her direction.

“Hey Ms. Corcoran,” Mercedes is polite when she greets Shelby back. And it’s not long before her attention is turned completely on Beth. “My goodness Quinn… she looks like you…”

“I know,” I whisper. “...Beth…” I say her name just a little bit louder than a whisper, which finally makes her look at me. And when our eyes meet, it’s like the planets have just aligned and everything in the universe is still. Everything is as it should be. “Hi… hi. I’m Quinn. I’m your mommy… well, your birth mommy…”

Mercedes rubs her finger along Beth’s chubby little hands and makes her curl her fingers. _ My god, she moves… _ “You’re so pretty,” Mercedes talks to her in a baby voice.

She seems okay with us talking to her, so that’s good. But I really want to touch her… so I take my hand off her back and run it through her downy soft blonde curls.

And that is the worst mistake of my life because as soon as I do that, she pushes away from me even harder, looks over at Shelby, and starts crying. No, not crying. _ Screaming. _

“Oh no,” I try my best at doing Shelby’s calm voice and bouncing her up and down. “No, it’s okay, it’s okay, shh.” But the more I talk to her, the further away she pulls from me and eventually, her chubby little arms reach out for Shelby.

“It’s okay,” Shelby’s mommy voice is so much more convincing than mine. And I don’t have much fight in me when she takes Beth right out of my arms. “Mommy’s here, mommy’s here. It’s okay.”

It kinda hurts when she says that. And it hurts even more when Beth instantly stops crying. Shelby puts her lips to Beth’s tear-covered cheek and rocks with her from side-to-side.

_ I’m her mommy, too…. can’t she feel that? She grew inside of me. I feel that. I still feel that. When she touched me and looked at me I felt that. It was like someone reignited a flame that burned out but when it was reignited, it burned just as bright as it did before it was put out. I still feel that. Why can’t she? I’m… I’m mommy. I would never hurt you… _

“She’s just not very used to strangers, I’m sorry,” Shelby explains. _ But I’m not a stranger. I’m… her mom… _“She’ll get used to you once we start getting on a regular visit schedule. Maybe you could even babysit sometime, you and Puck. Or you and Mercedes. Or even you and Rachel, I’d love that.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, feeling like I’m about to cry again. “We should get going, right Mercedes? We have school tomorrow and it’s kinda late.”

“Yeah,” Mercedes nods, picking up on my energy. I love it when we have unspoken moments like this. Moments where she can tell that I’m a little in over my head here and I’m hurting pretty deeply from watching my baby — my flesh and blood — recoil when I touched her. “It’s late.”

“Well Quinn, here, lets exchange numbers,” Shelby rummages through Beth’s diaper bag for her cell phone but I just shake my head even though she can’t see me.

“It’s okay, Shelby,” I keep shaking. “Really. We have… we have to go.”

I hold onto Mercedes’ hand and pull her away fast before the tears start coming. We even leave our shopping cart full of boots, jellybeans and earrings right in the checkout line.

_ It’s a little strange, but I feel like I want to talk to someone right now. And that someone isn’t Bailey or Mercedes or even my mother. That someone is someone I feel like would understand me. The only someone who would make me feel better right now. _

_ I want to talk to Rachel. _


	24. Ghost of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: It’s very mild and very brief, but there’s slight descriptions of rape aftermath so I want everyone please read with caution :)

* * *

* * *

**New Group iMessage**

**Wednesday, October 17**

**4:53 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **Quinn

**TINA: **Quinn!!!!

**4:56 p.m.**

**ME: **mercedes.

**ME: **tina.

**ME: **what?

**4:57 p.m.**

**TINA: **Where were you today???? Missed you @ lunch and glee club

**MERCEDES: **Rachel u here?

**5:01 p.m.**

**ME: **woke up with bad cramps & a visit from aunt flo :/ so i just stayed home.

**ME: **what did i miss?

**TINA: **Nothing really it was boring

**MERCEDES: **Karofsky got suspended for drawing a dick on Kurts locker lmfao

**ME: **LMFAO.

**5:07 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **The real point of me txting the group chat was to pick roommates

**MERCEDES: **Mr Shue said he needs to know roommate situations by the end of glee club tomorrow so he can book rooms

**5:10 p.m.**

**ME: **i’m good w/ whatever, lol

**TINA: **Me too honestly

**5:15 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Hey guys. I’m ok with whatever is decided too :)

**TINA: **Rachel!!!! Ur Alice!!!

**TINA: ****alice

**TINA: ********alive!!! Fcking autocorrect

**RACHEL: **Yeah sorry I was in the store and left my phone in the car 

**5:21 p.m.**

**ME: **heyyyyyyy rachellllllllll

**RACHEL: **hai :b

**5:22 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **So me/Tina together and Quinn/rachel? That good!

**MERCEDES: ***?

**TINA: **I’m cool with that

**RACHEL: **Fine with me!

**ME: **i’m good with that.

**5:31 p.m.**

**ME: **we should stay at someone’s house the night before we get on the bus to leave so we can all just go up to the school together.

**5:43 p.m.**

**TINA: **So Friday night have a sleepover? Even tho we have to get up early Saturday morning? Lol I’m down

**RACHEL: **Whose house? I’m in but I’m going to bed early. I always try to get as many hours of rest as I can before I have to sing or I’ll be tired and not at my best for the competition.

**ME: **hershey is 7hours away sleep on the bus.

**RACHEL: **I won’t get good rest on the bus though…

**5:50 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **New plan sleepover @ my house Friday night for everyone except party pooper Rachel

**ME: **lmfao.

**TINA: **Great idea

**RACHEL: **Stop it guys I said I was in just that I want to go to bed early.

**6:00 p.m.**

**ME: **we can stay at my house. my mom already said yes. i’ll drive us to the school saturday morning. just come home w/ me after school on friday so we have time to actually have fun since rachel’s bedtime is 9:00 lol

**TINA: **Ok sounds good!

**MERCEDES: **Your house on Friday. Got it

**RACHEL: **I’ll be there

**6:01 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **And it’s not 9:00, it’s 9:30 FYI.

I laugh to myself as I lock my phone and put it on my nightstand next to my bottle of water. I lied in the group chat, by the way. And I’m pretty sure Mercedes knows that I lied but she didn’t say anything, so I think I’m still in the clear. 

It’s not that I think they’d be mad at me if they knew I lied, it’s just that I think they’d feel slightly betrayed if they knew that I didn’t tell them the reason I stayed home from school today was because I saw Beth yesterday. They’re supposed to be my best friends and I’m supposed to be able to tell them everything, but I just don’t have it in me today. Telling them I saw Beth is nowhere near as difficult as admitting that Puck raped me and in all honesty, I could easily open my mouth and tell them that I saw Beth. But when I say that I just don’t have the energy to deal with their reactions to me seeing Beth, I mean it. I just don’t have it in me today.

In truth, I don’t have it in me to be alive today. I know that sounds bleak, but it’s the truth and when I’m feeling this way it’s best that I just don’t be around people.

I knew last night before I fell asleep that the halls of McKinley weren’t going to see Quinn Fabray today. I knew last night after I took my clothes off to take a shower that I wasn’t going to school today. I took my clothes off and went to put them in my dirty clothes hamper like I usually do, but I froze. Because something inside of me didn’t want my skirt and my tights and my frilly pink blouse to be washed. Her body had been pressed up against my clothes and maybe if I stuffed my face into the pile, I could still take in her scent. I hung my dirty clothes back up in my closet. Way in the back where none of my clean clothes would touch them. And then I got in the shower, but I didn’t stand up. I sat on the floor, water beating down on my head, and I cried. And I cried and I cried and I cried some more because I couldn’t get the image of my little baby girl snatching away from me when I touched her.

I still had a headache from crying when I woke up this morning and when my alarm clock went off, I really did try to get up and get dressed for school. I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting through twelve periods of honors classes, but the idea of getting to go to Glee club at the end of the day sounded promising. I kept talking myself into getting out of bed. I kept telling myself I would get up in five more minutes but then the five minutes came and went and before I knew it, I was late. Mom came in to check on me and I told her that I was just feeling a little sick today and the good thing about being in therapy for almost killing yourself is that your mother stops asking questions when you say you’re not feeling well. She told me that she was heading out for a little while but to keep my phone on and when she closed the door behind her, I rolled over and closed my eyes.

But I didn’t sleep.

I spent a total of twelve hours in bed today, only leaving twice to go pee, and I didn’t sleep not once.

I just laid here all day, thinking of all the things that went wrong in my life and led me to where I stood yesterday in JC Penney with my child screaming because I touched her...

* * *

* * *

_ She was grateful that the sink was made of porcelain, because it felt cold against the palms of her hands while the rest of her body was hot and sticky from sweat. Her fingers were sore but she flexed them open and then closed, just to make sure they could still move. _

_ Her ponytail matched her energy. It was low and droopy, matted from all the sweat that made her curls fall. Her mascara made dark black streaks at the corners of her hazel eyes and the pale pink lipstick that she meticulously put on just hours before was smeared all over her chin. _

_ It looked like her reflection in the mirror, yet something about her was different. Maybe if she had looked beyond her eyes, she’d have seen the life that left them. If she hadn’t looked away so fast, maybe she’d have noticed the way her light had gone out. Maybe… she’d have seen herself leave. _

_ Her jaw started to tremble and she tried to hold steady but one blink of her eyes and they made tiny rivers all down her cheeks. She hung her head and looked down into the drain as it swallowed her black tear, then moved her sore toes. Scrunched them along the fluffy brown rug beneath her feet, pressed them down to feel the softness. _

_ She could still feel his hands on her chest, his hips colliding into hers. She could still hear his groans of murmured pleasure, taste his sweat on her lips. If she closed her eyes, she could see the Playboy poster taunting her on the ceiling she stared at, smell the alcohol oozing from her pores. _

_ If she had wings, she would fly away. Somewhere far, far away from here. _

_ Her hands didn’t feel like her hands. She was robotic with the way she reached sore arms behind her back and unzipped the red and white pleated skirt. The fabric peeled away from her skin in layers and she wished that her body had a zipper, too; one that would make it possible for her to step out of her skin like a dirty old jacket. _

_ The skirt fell to the floor in a heap, and she flinched at the noise, but bent down to pick it up so she could send it to the laundry basket. She wobbled, uncertain when it came time to take off the stiff vest. _

_ “Quinn,” her mother’s voice followed two hard knocks on the bathroom door. It was a gentle reminder of who she was; a gentle reminder that she had a name. _

_ “Yeah, Mom?” She barely felt her voice as it left her throat. _

_ “I put your dinner plate in the microwave so you can heat it up when you get hungry,” her mother called from the other side of the door. “Is everything all right?” _

_ In her hands, she noticed crimson red stains on the white pieces of the skirt. She looked down at her legs and found more red blotches on the tops of her white socks. _

_ She threw herself at the shower then, and turned it on so suddenly that the water falling from the nozzle made her jump. She didn’t let it warm up before she jumped in it, no. She stepped into the running water and thrust herself — socks and uniform vest still on — into the one thing that would make her feel clean. _

_ “Quinn!” Her mother knocked harder. “I asked if you are you okay!” _

_ “Yeah,” she called toward the door, watching the water turn pink as the blood lifted from her socks. “I’m taking a bath…” her voice was rickety. “D-Don’t come in.”  
_

* * *

* * *

_ She had started to forget, which was convenient because she only remembered bits and pieces here and there anyway. She forgot the way his lips were cold and harsh against her skin, and forgot the way his body against hers made it hard to breathe. She even forgot the way his smile seemed to shine in the darkness, and the way his body filled hers up. It happened three months ago, after all. _

_ She was able to walk through the halls again, no stains on her crisp uniform. _

_ She was even able to ignore how her hips seemed to have widened and her abdomen had gotten firm. Everything was normal if she didn’t smell onions that made her nauseous, and she wouldn’t cry easily if she just didn’t watch the Hallmark Channel anymore. Nobody would notice if she tied a rubber band around the button of her cheer skirt to make it fit, and surely nobody would think negatively if they noticed her breasts had gone up an entire cup size. _

_ If she ignored it, nothing would happen. If she acted casual and remained calm, everything would just go back to normal and everything would be okay. _

_ She could keep smiling at him in the halls and she could act like she enjoyed her first time for sure. If the girls asked, she’d laugh and say that he knew what he was doing. And she could make up what she believed an orgasm felt like, just to lie and say she had one with him. And if he wanted to make it official and become a couple with her, she could fake that too. Because after all, nothing happened. She threw away her ripped underwear, washed away the sticky traces of blood between her legs. She had taken three showers a day since it happened, maybe even four sometimes because she’d take them every time she started to feel a little dirty. _

_ She could keep this going, she knew she could. _

_ Even as she sat on the toilet and waited for the hourglass in the tiny gray box to stop flashing. _

_ And so what if the gray box said “PREGNANT.” She could just wear baggy clothes and quit the cheerleading squad, no big deal. She didn’t have to tell anyone if she didn’t want to… _

* * *

* * *

_ She sat in the chair and watched as they passed around the mashed potatoes and baked chicken and green beans and homemade macaroni and cheese. It wasn’t her first family dinner but it was the first family dinner where she felt like everyone actually liked each other. And she started to feel like she belonged. But one quick glance around the table — at the shades of brown skin and the honest smiles — and she was reminded that this wasn’t her family. And she could never truly belong to something so wholesome. _

_ “You can dig right in and help yourself, sweetie,” Mercedes’ mother handed her the glass bowl full of mashed potatoes. “We don’t really practice much table etiquette around here.” _

_ “You like macaroni and cheese, right? My mom makes the best,” Mercedes slid the dish her way after piling three spoonfuls on her own plate. _

_ She wanted to cry because for a second, she didn’t notice the yellow duffel bag on the steps. She didn’t remember that everything she could stuff into that yellow bag in the time her father allowed her to was everything she owned. And she didn’t feel like the Joneses only saw her pregnant belly. They saw her, lost and lonely and confused, and invited her into their home… _

_ She — _

“Quinnie?” My mom pulls me out of my thoughts by knocking on my door and normally, I’d be pretty annoyed with her for interrupting whatever it is that I’m thinking about but today, I’m actually kind of glad that she did. I don’t really need to lie here and relive all the moments from when I wasn’t myself.

Honestly? I just started feeling like myself again. I think it happened when I was laughing at the homecoming game with Mercedes, Tina and Rachel. It was at that moment — the moment I felt _ infinite _ — that I stopped feeling like I was just watching myself go through the motions every day. The night Puck raped me, I felt myself leave. I don’t know where I went, but I left my body and I never came back. I just sat on the sidelines and watched as the shell of Quinn Fabray went on with her life as if nothing happened. Laughing at the game with my friends… well… I think that brought me back. And I’m starting to realize that all the “shes” are actually me…

“Come in,” I roll onto my side to face the door. She opens it just slightly and a small stream of light spills into my otherwise dark room. “Yes?”

Mom pokes her head in. “Your friend is here to see you. Are you gonna come down or should I send her up?”

“You can send her up,” I sigh and sit up so I can turn a light on and make it look like I haven’t been lying in bed sulking all day.

I should have known Mercedes was going to come over, and I’m kind of glad that she did. I knew she was going to come over because she knows that I lied in the group chat about skipping school because of my period. She knows I was down in the dumps after seeing Beth yesterday. She kept asking me if I was okay on the ride home and no matter how many times I assured her that I was, she didn’t believe me. She offered to stay the night with me last night just to make sure I didn’t get myself too down but I told her it was a school night and that she could go home.

I pull my hair out of the messy ponytail it’s been in all day and run my fingers through it. I don’t want her to get worried if she sees that I’ve been in pajamas all day without brushing my hair. She’ll get worried and start asking me all these questions and I’m just not in the mood for that.

I’m still dragging my fingers through my hair when I hear her footsteps pad into my room. Sometimes with Mercedes, it’s best to apologize before she gets a word in. It makes her less hostile when you do that.

So I start, “Before you say anything about me skipping school, I know I —“

“Hey….” she says.

And I already know who it is without looking because I’d recognize that perfect pitch anywhere…

“I hope you’re up for visitors…?”

…..Rachel says.

* * *

I suck a little bit of chocolate frosting off my thumb and index finger and nudge the box closer to her so she doesn’t have to reach over me to get another one if she wants one. I don’t know why she brought a dozen and I’m kind of afraid to ask. Don’t get me wrong, I love Dunkin’ Donuts and I can eat an entire dozen on my own. But I’m wondering why she chose to bring a dozen instead of two or three or a box of donut holes.

“Leave it to you to be the overachiever and get a whole dozen instead of just a few,” I say in a half-desperate attempt to understand what she was thinking when she purchased the whole dozen but I said it kind of mean and now I wish I never said anything at all.

“I didn’t know which ones you liked,” she mumbles, stirring the ice cubes in her iced coffee.

The two of us sit on the floor with our backs against the bed. We don’t look at each other and we hardly even speak, but I think the feeling is mutual when I say that we’re honestly just enjoying each other’s presence. I won’t lie, the silence is a little bit awkward and it almost feels like there’s a big purple elephant in the room. Only, it’s a big purple elephant that only I can see because I’m the only one who remembers our kiss.

“I’m sorry if I imposed,” she looks down and traces her fingers along the condensation on her iced coffee. “You know, I really debated whether I should just show up or text you first. I was kind of scared that you’d say no if I texted.”

“Why would I say no?”

“Because I don’t know Quinn,” she sighs hard and her voice raises a pitch so I can tell that she’s a little bit frustrated. Plus her face gets real red when she’s frustrated and I think it’s cute. “Maybe I’m still finding it hard to believe that you’re actually my friend.”

“God, will you stop it?! You are the most frustrating thing sometimes, I swear!” My tone matches hers. “Why do you act like someone is holding a gun to my head and forcing me to be your friend every time we hang out?”

She shrugs and continues to look down like she finds making pictures in the condensation on her iced coffee to be really interesting and intriguing work.

“If you came here to make me feel like crap for the way I treated you then congratulations, okay?” I pull my knees into my chest and rest my chin against them. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so horrible to you for the last three years of high school. I’m sorry that I was mean before I even got a chance to know you. You just don’t understand…”

“Well then make me. Enlighten me a little bit. Because I’m still kind of confused. One minute it’s like you like me and we’re friends but then the next minute you’re insulting me again and I really can’t keep up with your mood swings, Quinn. They’re starting to give me whiplash.”

“Then you can leave,” I shrug my shoulders. _ Wait… no. I don’t mean that… _

“Okay fine,” she stands up and adjusts her outfit. “You can keep the donuts. And I’ll tell Mercedes that I’ll room with Tina instead so it’s not awkward.”

_ I’m sorry, don’t go. I just… look, you kissed me. You kissed me and ever since you did, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. You kissed me and you don’t remember and plus you were drunk so I couldn’t even enjoy it and on top of everything, my child didn’t want me to touch her yesterday and I just really need you right now Rachel, okay? You’re the only person who can make me feel better. Don’t leave. _

“Rachel, wait,” I spring up off the floor too. “Don’t, okay? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just had a really rough few days, that’s all. And I shouldn’t be taking it out on you, but I am. And I’m sorry. I—“

“No, I shouldn’t have come. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have just shown up here unannounced. I didn’t do anything except make it even more awkward between us. But after that night, I just… I just really wanted to see you,” she whispers that last part.

“...You remember, don’t you?” I sit down on my bed and look away from her as soon as I ask…

“It’s all that I’ve been thinking about,” she mumbles, head geared down toward the floor. “And today… when Mercedes asked me… I really… I really didn’t know. I really didn’t think about it until she asked me and now… now I can’t get the idea out of my head.”

“What do you mean?”

“Today in chemistry. Mercedes… well, she asked me if I was… you know. We were talking about Kurt and about Blaine and then Santana and she asked me about me. And if I was. And I told her that I wasn’t, because it sounds so… it sounds crazy, doesn’t it? But she said it’s like a scale. That people step on. And nobody reads zero. And when she said that to me, it made sense. I had never thought about it until she said that to me and now I can’t get the idea out of my head so I came here. And I came here, thinking that maybe… maybe if I saw you then I’d know the answer. I would know if I was. But I see you and I’m thinking about you and about what we did and I still… I still don’t know…”

Her voice is all shaky and unsteady and for once, I think I can be the solid one. I think that I can be the rock.

So I slowly get up off my bed and walk over to her. She never lifts her head to look at me, she keeps looking at the ground and I’m pretty sure it’s because if she moves her eyes, her tears will spill. So she doesn’t look at me, but that’s okay. She doesn’t need to look at me. All she needs to do is feel me and know that I’m just as confused as she is.

I slip my hands underneath of hers and hold them steady…

“It’s okay,” I whisper to her. “Because I don’t know either.”


	25. Hear You Me

_ October 18 _

_ I would never tell Beth about the starving children in Ethiopia with no food or water or clothes or shoes on their tiny feet. _

_ I don’t always think about the things I would do if I were actually raising her, because it’s that kind of thinking that sends me into deep emotional turmoil. It took me three weeks of therapy with Jessica to learn how to train my brain to stop thinking that way. But today, I’m breaking the rules and thinking about something that I would do if I were actually raising her, and one of the things I wouldn’t do is tell her that there were children somewhere in a third world country starving, unlike her. _

_ Rachel and I didn’t talk in school today and I’m trying to learn how to be okay with casual silence between us since we’re both obviously so mixed up over what our relationship is or isn’t, but I’m not okay. I’m not okay and I just really want her to talk to me or acknowledge my existence but she won’t. She didn’t sit with us today at lunch and she totally ignored me in Glee club. Mercedes tried to convince me that it’s only because we’re so close to sectionals and she’s trying to hunker down and focus because she has two solos, but I don’t think that’s the reason at all. I know Rachel, I think. I know her and she wouldn’t just ignore me for no reason. I know she’s probably just trying to figure out in her head how the pieces of our puzzle all fit, but I hate that she ignores me in the process and there’s nothing I can do about it besides wait for her to come around. _

_ I know I said a few entries earlier that I’m starting to understand how Santana feels sometimes because walking around with this much shame in your body is exhausting enough to make anybody mad all the time. But now, I think I’m really a little bit jealous. Sure, sometimes she has to sit there and watch while Brittany does her thing and makes out with and hooks up with a bunch of random guys all the time, but at least she gets Brittany where it counts. At least at the end of the day when the lights go out and everyone’s not watching, Santana gets the side of Brittany that nobody else does. The rest of her casual hookups gets nothing but sex, but Santana gets the emotional parts in between and she is lucky. I know keeping the relationship hidden is probably frustrating, but I’d rather have a secret relationship with Rachel than no relationship at all. _

_ When I got home from school, Mom wasn’t home. She put a note on the fridge that told me she left my dinner in the crockpot and said that she’d be home no later than six. I swear I’m still trying to kick the habit, but today was such a horrendous day of dealing with Rachel ignoring me that I felt like it was warranted and excusable. I ate every drop of the chicken pot pie Mom left in the crockpot and drank the entire two liter of ginger ale in the back of the fridge. And it burned when it came back up, but I don’t regret actually doing it because I felt better. It felt like every part of sadness I had over Rachel ignoring me was thrown up into the sink along with my dinner and it made me feel good enough to hold on for one more day. _

_ I’m trying my hardest to not be angry with Rachel for not considering how it might feel for me to be ignored for an entire day, and I think I’m succeeding. Mostly, I just wish that we were as brave as Kurt and Blaine. I never realized how much courage it must take to walk the hallways hand in hand with someone you love. Especially if your love is frowned upon by 80% of society. _

_ Mom kept her promise and she was home by six on the nose. The first thing she did when she got home was open up the crockpot to make sure I ate. She was surprised that I ate all of it, but seemed happy because I think she noticed that yesterday, even though I was home all day and stayed in bed, I didn’t eat a thing. Mom’s really weird when it comes to me and food, and she has been ever since I passed out at gymnastics back in eighth grade. She panicked and took me to the hospital and the ER doctor told her that I passed out because my electrolytes were low. That, coupled with the fact that all the enamel had worn off my teeth and my throat had a tear, led them to get me a psych consult and that was the first time Mom had even heard of bulimia. I went to therapy for three weeks after that, Mom threw away all the scales in the house and that was the end of that. She was ecstatic when she saw that I ate everything she made for me today and when she sat on the couch next to me just to tell me “good job” for eating, I wanted to kick her. I decided against it, though. It used to annoy me, how clueless my mom is. But these days, it kind of comes in handy. _

_ I asked her tonight if I could stay home from school again tomorrow because I’m pretty sure Rachel is going to ignore me again and I don’t know if I can handle two days in a row. Mom asked me why I wanted to stay home so much this week and I didn’t lie completely. I just told her that me and my friend were having trouble communicating and I was a little sad. She told me that she was sorry, but I had to go to school and for some reason, I got really mad. _

_ Bailey would probably give me some long, in depth analysis about how I only got mad because my mom didn’t relinquish her control to me like she has been doing and I guess she’s probably right. But I got angry nevertheless and told her that I shouldn’t have to go to school if I don’t want to. That’s when Mom got mad at me back and told me to “suck it up” because a friendship going through a rough patch was not a valid reason to miss school. She also told me that I need to stop being so dramatic with everything because my life is fine, and that there are starving children in Ethiopia who would kill to have my life while I’m dying to get out of it. _

_ So now I’m wondering if maybe my mom thinks that everything I do is dramatic, from giving my child up for adoption to taking too many sleeping pills and ending up in a treatment center. I mean, she must think that I’m dramatic, right? If she said it, she must have been thinking about it for a while. _

_ Anyway, I would never tell Beth about the starving children in Ethiopia. Because even if there are starving children in Ethiopia who have it much worse, it wouldn’t change the fact that she’s sad. _

_ Telling her that wouldn’t change a thing about the way she felt. _

* * *

_ October 19 _

_ I tried again to stay home this morning, but my mother really wouldn’t let me. _

_ When my alarm went off, my eyes shot open and I woke with a very heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt nauseous when I got out of bed, so I went downstairs to where my mom was sitting at the kitchen island making coffee, and asked her again if I could stay home. She slammed her coffee mug down and said “dammit Quinn, I said no. You are going to school and that’s final and I don’t want to hear another word about it.” I stomped upstairs and slammed my door and flung my clothes all over the floor while I tried to find an outfit to wear. The heaviness in my stomach didn’t go away. _

_ I thought that maybe I was feeling so uneasy because a part of me knew that Rachel wasn’t going to talk to me again today and I didn’t want to face her with that knowledge. And I didn’t really want to be around Mercedes or Tina or anybody in Glee club, for that matter. I wanted to spend another day alone in bed doing nothing while I waited for Rachel to decide it’s okay to talk to me again. _

_ On the drive to school, I kept replaying the last time we talked over and over in my head, trying to think of something wrong that I could have possibly said. The last thing I told her was that I was just as confused as she was. I said “I don’t know either” as I held her hands. She looked at me with tears misting in her eyes — my favorite eyes — and told me that she needs time to figure it out. I told her that she could take as long as she needs and that I would wait for her. I leaned in to kiss her because it just seemed like the natural next step, but she pulled away. She took her hands out of mine and told me that she was “so confused” before she left. Maybe I came on too strong when I told her that I would wait for her to figure it out, but I meant it. Rachel is the kind of girl worth waiting for, I know she is. _

_ When I got to school, the air felt as heavy as my stomach. The cafeteria, which is usually bustling with noise and conversations that run together, was so silent that we could actually hear the morning announcements. And everybody’s heads were kind of low. And nobody looked each other in the eye. And everybody stayed kind of close. _

_ I whispered to ask Mercedes what happened, because I’m apparently the only one in school without a Facebook account at the moment, and she finally told me that Karofsky’s dad found him hanging in his closet last night. Noose around the neck. Feet dangling. It didn’t feel real when she said that to me and it didn’t start to feel real until Figgins got on the loudspeaker and announced that grief counselors would be available in the auditorium all day today, and Coach Beiste is planning a ceremony to retire his football jersey for next Friday. If anyone wants to plan to speak at the service, let her know directly. Mr. Schue cancelled Glee club today so that those of us who needed to see the grief counselors could find the time to attend. _

_ I haven’t stopped thinking about it all day. I haven’t stopped thinking about what his father must have felt to walk in and see his son’s body like that. I can’t imagine what his final moments must have been like. Nobody knew he was struggling that bad but he must have been because he actually went through with it. Whatever pain he was in, he needed it to go away that badly. And it’s sort of scary, because I know exactly how Karofsky must have felt… _

_ I knew I shouldn’t have gone to school today. Something deep in the pit of my stomach told me that I shouldn’t. _

_ And I blame my mother for not listening to it. _

* * *

I put one small spoonful of peas — the smallest spoonful I can manage — onto my plate and move to the baking dish full of meatloaf. Mom’s already sitting at the dining room table with a full plate, but she’s waiting for me to join her before she actually starts eating.

She insisted that we eat together tonight, and she insisted that we eat in the dining room with the good silverware and no cell phones. I’m halfway expecting her to announce that my father is moving back in sometime this week or maybe even that she’s pregnant again at the ripe old age of 53 because I can’t think of any other reason why she’d want to eat in the dining room with the good china when we usually eat off plastic plates and sit in front of the TV.

I’ve already planned this out, too, because I kind of saw this coming a mile away. Mom doesn’t lie about when she’s out spending time with Dad anymore. She tells me the truth and she’s been telling me that they’re going out more often lately. I knew it was only a matter of time before he asked to move back in, because he does own the house after all and he still pays the mortgage on it. So I already planned out how I’m going to go to Mercedes and ask if I can stay with her again. I know the Joneses would say yes because I do think they enjoyed having me, and I could be all moved in by Sunday. That gives me two days to pack up everything I’ll need and move it about six minutes away to the Joneses house. I can do it. And I’ll make it in enough time to go to school on Monday, too.

With my plate in tow, I sit in the place across from Mom at the table, and bow my head while she “blesses the food for the nourishment of our bodies.” I’ll probably cry or something when she actually opens her mouth to tell me that she’s letting Dad move back in, but I will say that she has guts. I don’t think I’d ever have enough balls to sit in front of Beth and tell her that I’m taking her father back after all the horrible things he’d done to us. It’s just not the kind of thing I’d make my daughter sit down at the table with the good china to tell her.

“So how was school?” She smooths a cloth napkin over her dark brown dress pants and scoots her chair closer to the table. “And how was choir club? Anything cool? New? Exciting?”

Just to avoid looking at her, I try to stab a pea with each of the tines of my fork. “It’s Glee club,” I correct her for the millionth time. “And it was fine. We’re just working on things for sectionals next Saturday.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re going to Hershey next weekend with the club. Remind me before you leave. I’ll put some money into your account. I want you to be comfortable out there.” She sips some white wine from a fancy glass and wipes her mouth with another cloth napkin.

“Thanks.” I spear one more pea with the last tine then hold it to my mouth. “We’re leaving early Saturday morning.”

“Okay, I’ll make a note of that.”

_ Well, this is awkward. You can stop sipping your fancy wine and trying to pretend like us having dinner together like this is normal. You can put your fork down and clear your throat like you want to do, and ask me how I would feel if Dad moved back in. I already know that’s what you want to do. So just do it already, Mom. Save us both the awkwardness and the irritation and just say it already. _

“Quinnie,” she starts after swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. _ Here we go. _“If you want to stay home from school tomorrow… I mean if you’re not really feeling up to going and you’d like to maybe stay home or come to the office with me for a few hours…”

I freeze right in the middle of putting a piece of gravy-covered meatloaf into my mouth. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I’m just saying that it’s okay if you would want to do that. I was wrong for pushing you into going to school today and I’m very sorry, sweetie.”

“You’re being weird.” I put my fork down and take a breath, because it’s clear that I’m going to have to be the one who initiates this. I should have known better, though. My mom is many things and a coward is one of them. She can’t look me in the eye and say what she needs to say because she knows it’s wrong. “Look mom, if you want —“

“If I’ve been pushing you too hard, Quinn, please don’t hesitate to say it,” she says and even from across the table, I can tell that her eyes are full of tears. “I just want you to be okay. You know, if something ever happened to you… or even to Francesca, for that matter, I don’t know what I would do.”

_ I’m confused. So… is this dinner not about her wanting Dad to move back in? What is her problem, then? _“Wait, Mom. Where is this even coming from? I’m fine. I’m… I’m fine?”

“Your school sent an email to all the parents today… and I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay, honey. I love you so much and I really just want you to know that you can talk to me. About anything.”

“An email…?” _ An email about what? What could McKinley possibly send an email to our parents about? The fact that we get slushies thrown in our faces on the daily? The fact that two kids got caught having sex under the bleachers last Monday? The fact that the school’s environment is extremely homophobic and every gay kid gets severely bullied? Maybe… wait, maybe… oh god. _“They sent you an email about Karofsky…”

“I just can’t imagine what that boy’s parents are going through. To lose a child…” She shakes her head as her voice trails off and takes a deep breath. “You can talk to me, Quinn. I don’t want what happened last summer to ever happen again. I don’t want to ever know what that’s like.”

“Mom, I —“

“No, honey. I won’t let you put the blame on yourself for any of this. I should have been more present in your life, I should have been more attentive. I should have known that you were struggling and I didn’t. I’m… I’m your mom. I’m your mom and I should have known everything about you.”

_ My god, I can’t listen to this right now. Maybe it sounds harsh or maybe it makes me seem like an uncompromising bitch, but I’m so tired of hearing her apologies. I’m trying to listen to her and I’m trying to let it resonate with me. And I’m trying to let her apologies heal our relationship like I promised Jessica I would. But I’m just finding it really hard to do because why is she only sorry now? Why did it take me overdosing on a bunch of pills for her to realize how wrong she and my father treated me during a time when I needed them the most? And what if I hadn’t overdosed? What if I didn’t want to sleep that night and I didn’t end up in treatment and I was just still coexisting with all the crap I was before everything happened? She’d still be my father’s minion. Nothing would have changed. _

“It was that Friday night, wasn’t it?” Her eyes are very glossy with tears now and I feel horrible for feeling this way, I do. But I really don’t care that she’s about to cry. It has absolutely no affect on me. I just sit there, opposite end of the table, staring at her while her tears drip down onto her plate. I have no expression on my face and no words to say. “Ever since you told me, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out when it happened because… because how did I miss it? How did I really not know? And it was that Friday night, it had to have been. You came home and went straight upstairs and I knocked on the door to ask if you were doing okay and you told me that you were taking a bath. You… you didn’t come out of your room for the rest of that weekend. I didn’t see you until that Monday, you just laid in bed all weekend… it was that, wasn’t it? That was it… how could I have not known?”

“You wonder why I don’t tell you things,” I slam my napkin down onto the table and push my chair out so I can stand up. “This is the reason why I don’t tell you things, Mom! This right here!” I storm past her so I can run up the steps and go to my room, but she grabs my arm to stop me. “Let go of me!”

“Quinnie, I just want you to talk to me!”

“And then what, Mom? You want me to talk to you so then what? So you can look at me and see nothing but… what? Someone who has a baby out of wedlock? Someone who got raped? Someone who overdosed?”

“When I look at you, I see my _ daughter, _Quinn. My child. If you would just stop it and quit with the drama for five seconds, you’d realize that I’m just trying to —“

“YOU’RE NOT TRYING TO DO ANYTHING EXCEPT MAKE THIS ALL ABOUT YOU!” I snatch out of her grip. “You think that sitting here crying about all the things you should have done and all the things you should have known is going to do what? Make me want to tell you things? Make everything better? It’s not about you, Mom! It’s not about you!”

“I’m not making this about me, Quinn! But you need to stop pretending that you’re the only one who was affected by —“

“I’m sorry, WHAT?!” _ She has got to be kidding… _“Finish what you were going to say, Mom. Please. Finish.”

She is quiet, calculating. She takes a deep breath. Then starts again, “You are not the only one who’s life was upended by all of the things that happened last year. I am your mother and when you hurt, I hurt. My life was turned upside down, too. My life was in shambles, too. I—“

“Oh my fault, Mom. I forgot that you were the one who got kicked out of your house at sixteen-years-old. I forgot you were the one who stood on the porch shivering when your father slammed the door in your face. I forgot you were the one who was so lost and confused, thinking about whether you should keep your child or not. I forgot you were the one who wanted to, despite everything, be a mother to your child but just… couldn’t. Because even though you loved her more than anything in the world, you couldn’t stop thinking about how it felt to lie on a bed, cold and naked, while her FATHER… raped you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to love someone so much when they look like someone you’re supposed to hate? Do you?” A tear slipped out of the corner of my eye, but I just brush it off. “So… yeah. I’m sorry if I forget that your life was a personal hell for you, too.”

After I say that, she lets me leave. I walk right past her and go to the steps and she doesn’t even stop me. She says not another word. Not even when I slam my door so hard the walls shake.

_ I’m starting to think that our relationship is a little bit beyond repair… and I don’t even think that I care if we ever do repair it. _

* * *

_ October 20 _

_ Every time I think that things are going great, they fall apart again and I’m starting to wonder if this is all my life will ever be. _

_ I saw Bailey today for a half hour session. It wasn’t as long as I probably needed it to be, but at least I saw her and we both agreed that she will start seeing me every Tuesday in school, but also every Saturday at her office. I apologized to her for storming out of our last session and she told me that it was okay, but somehow I still feel like it really wasn’t okay. Somehow I feel like by storming out the way I did, I set our progress back a few weeks and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I asked her today how it works whenever I start to feel like I don’t need therapy anymore and she told me that she will discharge me whenever she feels like I’m ready. And that scared me, because I don’t think I ever will be ready to be discharged. Some people have therapists their entire lives and I’m starting to think that maybe I’m one of those people. _

_ She didn’t ask me about Beth, by the way. I was a little grateful that she didn’t because I was so sure she would since I stormed out last time she asked about her. But she didn’t. And I think she didn’t ask about Beth because we spent most of the session talking about Karofsky and how his suicide made me feel. _

_ In truth, I don’t know how his suicide makes me feel. On one hand, I think it makes me kind of sad to know that there was someone roaming the halls of McKinley who felt that horribly. But on the other hand, I can’t bring myself to understand how he could actually go through with it if he knew that he had a mother and father who loved him. _

_ When I said all of that to Bailey, she seemed confused and I know it was because she thought that I struggled with the same thing as him. But what she didn’t realize was that Karofsky and me were not the same. When he hung himself, he was actually trying to kill himself and I wasn’t. All I wanted to do was sleep. _

_ And even if I did try to kill myself — which I didn’t — at least I wasn’t leaving anyone who loved me behind. If I tried to kill myself, I didn’t have a mother like Karofsky’s who would tearfully clean out my locker and a father like his who would demand to speak to the school faculty to find a reason. The situations are entirely too different to really compare, and if I did try to kill myself, it wasn’t for selfish reasons. _

_ I think when I see Bailey on Tuesday, I’m going to tell her that I saw Beth. I’ve been trying to put it out of my head and just ignore all the feelings it awakened within me, but I think I could really benefit from telling her. Maybe she can give me advice on how to see her without my heart aching the way it did when I held her. _

_ Maybe Bailey can give me some answers. _

* * *

_ October 21 _

_ Mercedes asked me if I wanted to come over today and I told her no. She told me that she missed me because she hasn’t seen me since school on Friday, but I lied and told her that I was going to church and having breakfast with my mom this fine Sunday morning. _

_ I don’t know why I told her that I didn’t want to hang out when in reality, I did. I wanted to be in her company today so I didn’t just mope around all sad and hung up on thinking about Karofsky and Beth. I wanted to hang out with her so badly that I actually typed out “sure, I’ll be over in an hour” but I deleted it and sent “no thanks I have plans with my mom today” instead. _

_ It’s strange how being weirdly sad like that makes you do all the things you don’t want to do. _

_ Mom went to church with Dad this morning and they went to this really expensive restaurant for brunch and I have been on the couch all day. ABC Family has been playing old Disney movies all day and I’ve seen almost every princess movie within a ten hour frame. I know it’s not fair of me to think this way, but I can’t help but wonder if Mom really does care about me and my wellbeing or if she’s just trying to act like she hasn’t been a terrible mother to my sister and me. I wonder that, because she sure has been leaving me alone a lot for someone who is worried their child might try to kill herself. _

_ I wasn’t trying to kill myself when I took all of those pills, but if I was… I would do it on a day like today when Mom isn’t around to shove her fingers down my throat and make me vomit them up again. _

_ I would try to kill myself alone. _

_ I would get up off the couch that I’ve been sitting on all day, and I would go upstairs to my bedroom. I would take all of my clothes off and put them in the basket. And then I would go to the bathroom and run myself a really warm bath. While I was in the bath, I would think of all the things that I am going to miss about this world. I would miss the way the house smells after Mom makes french toast and the way the sidewalk is damp and warm after it rains in the summertime. I would miss the way it feels to drive down the highway with Mercedes while we sing Behind These Hazel Eyes. Oh, and I would miss the way Rachel’s nostrils flare when she gets angry and the way her hair smells when I’m close enough to get a whiff. I would miss the way Beth’s slobber felt warm as it dripped down my arm, and miss the way I was angry at Shelby for wiping it. _

_ All these things I would miss about this world, but it wouldn’t be enough to make me stay. _

_ I would get out of the bath and put lotion all over my body before I was dry because I’d want my skin to be all soft. _

_ And I’d take every pill in the medicine cabinet. _

_ Then I’d lay down in my warm bed and close my eyes until finally, I floated away from this world. _

_ I’d leave everything behind. _

_ All the tears, the pain, the hurt. _

_ I’d be gone and so would everything else. _

_ I miss my friends. _

_ I know saying that seems counterproductive, especially when I didn’t accept Mercedes’ invite to hang out today, but I do. I miss the way hanging out with them made me feel and I’m hoping that maybe I can get a little piece of that back when we go to sectionals this weekend. _

_ In between movies, I scrolled through my phone’s camera roll and looked at all the pictures I took during homecoming weekend. Pictures of me smiling as we sit on the bleachers at the game. Pictures of Mercedes with her lips on my cheek. Pictures of the four of us laughing. Pictures of the four of us wearing our costumes. Pictures of me and Mercedes in my car when we got to the mall, videos of us singing like total idiots. Pictures and videos of me being happy. _

_ And I closed my eyes and remembered exactly how I felt every time the camera flashed and captured those moments. How I knew in that moment that someday, the pictures would fade and become distant memories; stories that we would all tell our kids after we drifted apart and lost touch. _

_ But in that moment, I felt it all happening. Like how we were sitting on those bleachers with the lights beating down on our heads. Or how we were listening to that song. It was all happening in that moment and I was living in it. _

_ Those were the moments I knew I was alive. _

* * *

The auditorium is always the hottest room in the entire school, so as soon as I sit down, I unbutton my blazer and hang it over the back of my chair. I watch the double doors and look for Mercedes, since I haven’t talked to her since breakfast. I didn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria. I ate lunch in the bathroom by myself because I felt like today was a day where I wanted to binge and I didn’t want to do it in front of everybody.

I feel like I felt for an entire month after what happened with Puck. I feel myself going through the motions. I go to class and take notes like a good student and I reply to conversations like a normal person. But everything feels mechanical, like nothing is really happening to me and I’m here… but I’m not _ here _. It’s an odd feeling.

“Hey,” she says softly as she takes the seat beside me.

“Hey.”

My eyes follow Rachel as she sits down, too. But she sits two aisles over and off in a corner by herself. And I don’t know why, but that stings. It makes me want to pull my knees into my chest and cry until my head hurts. _ Why is she being like this? _

“Where’s Tina?” I ask, just casually trying to brush the whole Rachel thing off. My voice is wobbly like it’s going to break, but I steady it.

“She had to stay after to finish a quiz in her English class. She’ll be here in a little bit.” Mercedes unzips her backpack and pulls two packages of fruit snacks out. She offers me one and I take it. “What’s with her?” She motions with her head over to where Rachel is sitting. “She hasn’t been sitting with us and she hasn’t texted back in the group chat.”

“She just… I don’t know,” I shrug. _ Tell her. Mercedes usually makes you feel better anyway… _“She came over my house last Wednesday and she hasn’t been talking to me since.”

“She’s not mad at you.”

“She told you that?”

“Yeah. We were talking in Chem again today. She just… she needs a minute. She’s… she’s having a rough time.”

“A rough time with what?”

“...She thinks she’s gay. And she doesn’t know how to —“

“Okay guys!” Mr. Schue stands up in the middle of the stage and claps his hands together. “Before we start rehearsing for sectionals, I wanted to ask you guys something. Now as you all know, we’re still very much mourning the loss of David Karofsky.”

_ We know, Mr. Schue. We don’t go through one class without hearing a single teacher talk about how suicide is not the answer. How many times do we have to hear it? _

“I want you guys to know that I care about each and every one of you. I really do. I love you kids like you’re my own. So if any one of you is ever… struggling with anything — anything in this world — you can talk to me,” he sits down at the edge of the stage and swings his feet. “I know sometimes it’s harder on you kids than any other kid in this school. It’s hard being an outsider. But what Karofsky did…” he sighs. “Guys, that is never the answer. It pushes the pain off to someone else. I am always listening. Always here for you guys.”

He looks out and makes eye contact with every single one of us, and I feel something unspeakable in the air. Something powerful, too. It’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Nobody says anything, but nobody has to. We all know what we’re thinking. We all know that we’re a family.

“With that being said,” Mr. Schue starts again. “Coach Beiste has asked me if you guys would consider performing this Friday at the memorial assembly. I told her I would have to ask you guys… with sectionals being this weekend and all, it would be a lot of added pressure because you already have numbers to perfect and adding one more number could be —“

“Mr. Schue,” Rachel calls out from her side of the auditorium. She’s all alone, nobody else is sitting beside her. But everybody gives her their undivided attention. “I think I speak for everyone in here when I say that we would love to.”

Mr. Schue gives us all those individual looks again, then stands back up. “Okay. So I already have a song selection in mind and you guys can follow after me. Okay? Let’s take it from the top. One… two… one, two, three…”

As soon as the music starts playing over the audio system above our heads, we stand up one by one so we can all take the stage. Mercedes stands up before I do, and she holds her hand out to me. I contemplate for a second… but I take it. Blaine’s the first one up on stage, and Mercedes pulls me up onto my feet just as he starts.

** _“There’s no one in town I know. You gave us some place to go. I never said thank you for that… thought I might get one more chance.”_ **

I follow Mercedes up to the stage and I notice that she won’t let my hand go. And for a minute, I start to consider something…

** _“What would you think of me now? So lucky, so strong, so proud. I never said thank you for that. Now I’ll never have the chance…”_ **

_ How scary must it have been for Mercedes to hear that I overdosed? And how scary must it be for her to not know if I’ll ever do it again? I won’t talk to her about it and I haven’t told her anything past the fact that I went to Pennsylvania for treatment. That’s all I’ve given her. And I’m her best friend. She’s mine, too. But I’m her best friend… how scared must she feel to know that she could have lost me the way we lost Karofsky? _

Still deep in thought, we all join in for the chorus.

** _“May angels lead you in. Hear you me, my friends. On sleepless roads the sleepless go. May angels lead you in…”_ **

And as I sing, my head is still reeling…

_ Maybe that’s why she won’t stop holding my hand. Maybe that’s why she keeps looking at me. Because she’s scared of what could have been my fate. I would be scared if she did what I did, too… I’d walk around terrified over the mere idea that I could have lost my best friend… _

** _“If you were with me tonight… I’d sing to you just one more time. A song for a heart so big… God wouldn’t let it live.”_ **

_ And Rachel’s struggling, too. And she’s not talking to me. She’s… she’s just… like I was. And maybe I could help her through it, maybe I could. If maybe she’d just talk to me. But she won’t… and I can’t make her… we’re all struggling with this… this secret. And if we would all just come out to each other, maybe nobody will struggle the way Karofsky did… _

I look at Santana as soon as the song ends. Because we’re all going through the same thing. All of us…

“Okay guys, that was good. Really, really good,” Mr. Schue says and smiles at us like he’s genuinely proud. “You guys can take five and get a drink. When you come back, we’ll work on sectionals material.”

Rachel is the first one out of the auditorium and I think everybody is starting to notice how… off she is. I want to go after her and tell her that it’s okay, but I don’t know if I would make everything worse by doing that, so I don’t.

Instead, I…

“Hey Santana,” I mumble as I approach her. She stops sucking on her water bottle and raises an eyebrow at me. “You wanna talk? ...Alone?”

“About what?” her tone is hasty but I just let it roll off my shoulders because I know that hasty is one of Santana’s more permanent moods.

“You know what.”

“I told you to just drop it. Okay? Nothing happened. We were both drunk and it wasn’t anything. It was —“

“One of our classmates just killed himself because someone here at this school outed him. I think we have a lot to talk about. We —“

“OH WOULD YOU STOP IT?!” she shouts and now everybody in the auditorium is looking at us. “STOP TRYING TO GIVE ME ADVICE AND STOP ACTING LIKE YOU’RE ALL HOLIER THAN THOU AND HAVE LIFE FIGURED ALL OUT JUST BECAUSE YOU SPENT THE SUMMER LOCKED UP IN A PSYCH WARD.”

And to that… I really have nothing left to say. Not when everyone is looking at me and they all suddenly know one of the things I wasn’t ready to tell people yet…

Mercedes looks at me and for a second, I want to run to her and let her comfort me but then I remember that she’s the only person I told and the only person who could have possibly told Santana…

“Quinn,” Mercedes tries to call out to me but shake my head at her and I leave.

I run past everyone’s eyes which are now just staring at me and only me.


	26. Bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER.   
There’s some in depth explanations of an eating disorder that can be uncomfortable for some people to read, so please use caution while reading this chapter. There are also light descriptions of rape aftermath, so be cautious on that end as well. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

* * *

* * *

My dad used to pick me and Frannie up by our arms whenever we would sit down and cry.

I remember the first time he ever did it, too. I was four, maybe five. And Mom had just yelled at me and Frannie because we kept running inside the house to fill up our water guns, only to spill water all over the kitchen floor when we ran back out the door to go shoot them at each other in the yard. We ignored Mom and kept running inside. Cold, wet, bare little feet thumping all over the polished wooden kitchen floors, childish laughs bouncing off the walls. Mom yelled again from the reading room, but Frannie and I never took her too seriously. Then, in our haste to get back outside and continue playing our rendition of “cops and robbers,” Frannie slammed the door. She thought I was already completely out of it, but I was only halfway out of it and my finger got slammed hard between the frame and the sliding glass door.

The gash on my finger was about three inches long and it bled all over my t-shirt and all over Mom’s favorite Sherpa rug. After the shock of seeing my own blood outside of my body wore off, I sat down on the rug and screamed my head off at first. Then, I started crying. Real thick alligator tears, too. Mom, Dad and Frannie both ran to me and I shook my bloody finger in their faces, still crying. Mom scooped me up and put me on the countertop so she could rinse my finger off under the faucet while Frannie was crying hysterically too, trying to convince Mom and Dad that it was an accident and she “didn’t mean to cut off Lulu’s finger, I swear.”

Mom got all the bleeding to stop and she went upstairs in search of a band-aid. I continued crying my little baby tears and Frannie stood back and calmed herself down after Mom reassured her that my finger wasn’t cut off. Dad stood in front of me, finger still throbbing, and grabbed me by my forearm. He forced me onto my feet and looked down at me from his six foot, four inch frame. And I can still hear the tone of his voice saying, “I don’t care if you cry, Lucy. But you’re gonna cry standing up.”

That was Dad’s motto. Frannie skins her knee during a soccer game? She can cry, but she’d better cry standing up. I come down wrong on the balance beam at a gymnastics meet and bruise my entire ass? I could cry, but I’d better cry standing up. Frannie’s boyfriend forgets her birthday and breaks up with her the day after? She had to cry standing up. I come home hysterically crying because a kid drew a picture of a pig and labeled it “Lucy”? He didn’t care if I cried, but I wasn’t going to sit on my mommy’s lap and cry. No way.

Dad would completely lose his mind if he could see me now, sitting on the floor of the handicap stall, crying my eyes out.

If it were any other day at any other time, the part of me that is slightly a germaphobe would be freaking out because my bare legs are flat against the cold gray and white linoleum floor. I’m silently kicking myself for not wearing tights under my dress, but the weather said that it’s going to be the last nice day before the chilly fall weather starts setting in, so I wanted to wear a dress with no tights.

If it were a normal day, I’d be thinking about all the pee and mud and rain water that’s been tracked all over this floor, but it’s not a normal day and all my stupid brain can think about is producing more and more tears when really, I’m just so tired of crying. I’m holed up in the handicap stall of the girls’ bathroom, sitting with my bare legs on the nasty floor with my hands over my eyes, crying. And I really want to snap out of this, I really do. 

But I can’t get everyone’s faces out of my head.

_ Did you see the way everyone looked when she said it? Everyone’s eyes got so wide, so serious, so… surprised… They looked like they had just witnessed a murder. And now… that’s the only look they’re ever gonna give me. They’re only ever going to give me that sad, pathetic, “we pity you, Quinn” look and I don’t want that look. I wanted Glee club to remain the one place where nobody looked at me like that. _

I sniff and swallow hard as I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands. Just when I feel like I’m done crying though, more tears well up in my eyes and I feel my face crumble and my hands go right back up to cover me because even though nobody can see me in here, I just want to be extra careful and be extremely sure that nobody can see the tears as they fall.

_ I can’t believe Mercedes told her… I just… can’t believe it. Why would she tell her? And when did she do it? I… I trusted her. Is there really nobody in this world that I can trust? How could she, though? She’s my best friend… my truest friend… I thought I could trust her with my life… why would she tell Santana? _

“She’s gotta be around here somewhere,” I hear Mercedes voice crawl into the bathroom, as if me thinking about her made her appear somehow.

Even though I’m mid-sob, I bite down on my bottom lip to suppress my cries and slowly, careful not to make any noise, ease myself up onto the toilet. Still biting my lip, I put my feet on either side of the toilet seat and squat down so that if she happens to poke her head around in here, she won’t see my feet through the bottom of the stall. I don’t want to be found. I don’t want to be comforted and convinced to go back into the auditorium and practice for sectionals.

I want to sit down, let it all out, and not cry standing up.

“Quinn?” Tina’s voice comes next and it’s so loud that it feels wrong against the quiet inside my little stall. “Quinn, you in here?”

I watch the shadow of her body as she comes inside, looks around for a split second, then leaves.

“Come on,” Mercedes’ voice is there again. “Let’s get back to rehearsal. Let’s just give her a minute.”

I wait a few more moments, crouched down on top of the toilet, just to make sure that I really am in the clear and not going to walk out of my stall just to be ambushed.

When I’m relatively sure that they’re both gone, I ease myself, one foot at a time, back off the toilet seat and unlock the stall. I thought that maybe after I came in here and let it all out and got it all out of my system that I would be okay and feel fine enough to go back to rehearsal because after all, it is the week of sectionals, but I think I’m just going to go home.

_ I guess it’s not safe to cry alone here. _

* * *

I drop my bookbag off by the bannister as soon as I get into the comfort of my house, and take my brown and black moccasins off on the rug. I don’t bother shutting the door because it’s really nice outside, and there won’t be many more days where the sun gets to shine inside the house. So I keep the heavy wooden door open and make sure the glass storm door is closed instead.

“Mom,” my voice is still a bit groggy from all that crying, but it goes away pretty easily when I clear my throat. “Mom… something happened today at Glee club. And I just wanna tell you about it before other moms hear about it and ask you questions, okay…?” I take my jacket off and hang it on the coat rack.

“Mom?” I call her name again as I make my way to the kitchen, where she normally is. But it’s not really all that surprising to me when I find that she’s not in it. In fact, I’m halfway expecting to see the bright yellow sticky note, stuck to the plastic covering sugar cookies so fresh that the wrap is still sweating, waiting for me on the kitchen island. I lean over a bar stool and snatch the note off the plastic wrap, careful not to tear it.

**Quinnie,**

**Went out to late lunch**

**with daddy. Should be back**

**around 5. Will bring**

**food home for you but**

**chicken from the walmart**

**deli is in the fridge. Heat  
** **it up if you get hungry.**

**Love you  
** **mom xo**

**P.S. They’re homemade.**

**Your favorite!**

Just like I do with all the notes she leaves me to tell me where she is and what time she’ll be home instead of texting me or calling me like a normal human being, I crumble it until it’s in the smallest ball of yellow paper and blue ink possible, then I throw it into the garbage.

_ She doesn’t care. She can’t possibly. I don’t know about her, but if it were me and I was as afraid of losing my daughter as she claims to be, I wouldn’t be leaving her alone so much. I would make an effort to be home as much as possible and as involved in my daughter’s life as possible. I wouldn’t sit at a dining room table in front of a big dinner and cry to her about how much I love her and how much I would cry and be sad if she killed herself. I would show her. I would be home making dinner for her every day. I would be sitting with her while she does her homework and asking her questions about her day. I would be asking questions about how her therapy sessions have been going and I would ask her if maybe she wants to go hang out and see a movie on the weekend instead of her father. I would make sure she knew that I was actually interested in her life and who she is as a person. I wouldn’t keep messing up by continuously calling something important to her “choir club” when she’s corrected me time and time again. And for god’s fucking sake, I would notice that she dropped ten pounds in less than two months and always seems to need to use the bathroom after eating. _

_ She doesn’t really care about me. At least, not in the way she says she does. _

When my hand wraps around the stainless steel handle of our french door refrigerator, I realize that I don’t even know what I’m looking for. It’s not like I’m actually hungry and it’s not like I actually want the chicken that she apparently got from Walmart. But still, for some reason, I stand in front of the open fridge, glossing over all the possibilities.

_ Two sticks of butter, a carton of eggs, half-drunken jug of United iced tea, an unopened bottle of ginger ale, almond milk, 2% milk, Kraft singles, string cheese, leftover mashed potatoes, leftover pot roast, Walmart chicken, two full packages of peach Activia yogurt, Heinz ketchup, French’s mustard, Sweet Baby Ray’s barbecue sauce, blueberry bagels, Philadelphia cream cheese, green grapes, one single apple and a package of bacon. _

At first, I head for the chicken. But my mind stops midway and I go for the cream cheese instead. And as I unwrap the entire block it and take a bite like it’s a candy bar, I sit on a bar stool and really think about what Mom and Dad could possibly be doing right now.

_ They’re probably at some fancy restaurant staring deeply into each other’s eyes while they order something gross and expensive like escargot.  _ I take another giant bite of the cream cheese.  _ And dad is probably singing some stupid sob story like “Judy, it’s time I come home. Don’t you think? I love you so much.” And Mom is lapping it all up, too.  _ I take a third bite.  _ She’s not smart enough to be like “Russell, did you stop banging your receptionist? Or how about your bookkeeper, Irene? Will you be funneling anymore money into your interns’ accounts for secret abortions or was that just a one time experience limited to poor little Rebecca?”  _ One more bite of cream cheese.  _ She doesn’t respect herself enough to say “oh and Russell, if I let you come back home, please promise you won’t throw me against the walls when I ask why you smell like another women’s perfume. And please don’t rip our daughter’s cheer uniform off of her body and call her a whore because you found condoms in the vanity drawer that you had no business looking inside of. She wasn’t using those condoms for any sexual activity, they were just given to her for free at the clinic she went to so she could get tested for STDs after she was raped. Oh, did I mention she was raped? Yes. Our poor little Quinnie was raped, Russell. How sad.” _

One more bite of the cream cheese and suddenly, I realize that I’ve eaten the entire thing. And I lick my lips. And my fingers too, because it was so good that I don’t want to waste a single piece. And maybe I wasn’t hungry before, but I sure am hungry now after eating that, so I find myself back in front of the fridge.

I go for the chicken this time and she only got me six pieces, so I just take the entire container over to the island and sit back down again.

_ And I can totally picture Dad’s reaction to Mom telling him that I was raped, too. He’d react like any typical man would, because my dad is the definition of a typical man. All the things you read about in the media… all the stereotypes and horror stories of girls who were raped? My dad’s reaction would be exactly that. first, He’d be all, “That’s just a story she made up to cover up the fact that she’s a little whore. You really believe her blatant lies, Judy? If she was gonna cry rape, why did she wait until a year after the fact to speak up? She’s ashamed of what she did and is now looking for an excuse. You see that Puckerman boy? He’s a good looking kid, why would he have to rape anybody? She prances around in that uniform all the time, the skirt barely covers her ass. She knows what attention she attracts. Stop falling for Lucy’s lies, Judy. You’ve been doing it since the girl could talk.” And maybe Mom would believe him. _

I only notice that all six pieces of chicken are gone when I reach into the container to grab another piece and hit the very bottom. I lick the grease off my fingers and before I’ve even chewed and swallowed the chicken that is still in my mouth, I’m standing in front of the fridge again. And this time, it's the mashed potatoes.

But I don’t sit at the island anymore. No. I plop right down on the floor with my back against the fridge and take the lid off the glass bowl. And I could warm them up in the microwave like a civilized person, but what’s the point? It would take an entire two minutes to warm them up properly and I don’t have time for that. I’m hungry right now. I don’t even grab a spoon because again, what’s the point? 

I reach my hand down into the bowl and take an entire fistful of mashed potatoes. They’re cold and my hands are starting to hurt. My hands ache the way my stomach is starting to, but all of that hurts way less than the thought of Mom and Dad having dinner together. I stare at the wall in the hallway, at the picture of me and Frannie ten Christmases ago. We’re both in matching velvet dresses with white fur around the arm holes. Mine is green and Frannie’s is red. And she’s hugging me and we’re both surrounded by fake snow and Christmas bulbs. I miss that. When times were simpler.

I stare at the wall until I reach down and feel nothing but cold, clean glass. And when I look down, the bowl tells the same story. It is empty. Almost as empty as I feel.

But I know better than to let it sit for too long, because letting it sit for too long makes it harder to come back up. So I wipe my mashed potato hands on the seat of my dress and get the ginger ale from the top shelf. Mom would kill me if she knew that I drank straight from the bottle, but Mom’s not here so I twist the cap off and take gulp after gulp until my nostrils burn.

And then, as if I’m on a schedule or something, I lean over the sink and shove my fingers to the back of my throat.

_ What if she never comes home? What if it’s never the way it was when I first came home from treatment? What if Mom stays away less and less? What if Dad takes her away longer and longer each time? Until eventually, she just doesn’t come home at all? And then I’m all alone? And what if I want to sleep again? What if I get so bad that I want to sleep again and take all those pills but Mom’s not home anymore and she’s not here to put her fingers in my mouth to make the pills come up? _

_ What if when I go to school tomorrow, somebody says something? Because everybody knows now. Santana told everybody and Mercedes told Santana and Rachel isn’t talking to me and Shelby has my baby and Mom is never home and Beth cried when I held her and Dad thinks I’m a whore and Puck raped me and Karofsky’s dead and nobody is here and I’m all alone and now… _

The pile in the bottom of the sink looks different. I run through everything I ate today in my head, just to try and remember if I ate anything red. But when I start to taste that awful metallic taste in my mouth, I stop thinking. Because I know I didn’t eat anything red today and the only thing that tastes the way my mouth tastes right now is blood.

But I spit into the sink, just to be sure. And it still doesn’t feel real to me — seeing that my spit is bloody too — I wipe my mouth with my forearm. And I keep my mouth open as I back away from the sink.

_ Where’s Mom?! I need Mom! Is it five yet?! Is it close to five?! I’m bleeding! There’s blood in the sink and in my mouth and on my shirt and on the floor and my mouth tastes like blood and I just threw up blood and I’m kind of freaking out and I need Mom! Mom?! There’s blood coming from my mouth! Mom!? _

I grab my cell phone off the island and dial her number with shaky, bloody hands. It rings for what seems like an eternity.

**“You have reached the voicemail box of… Judy Fabray… please leave a message after the tone.”**

Her voicemail picks it up and as soon as I hear the beep, I —

“M-Mom?! Mom, it’s me! Something happened and I… Mom, I’m really scared! I’m so scared, can you just come home? Please? Please? Please?”

I hang up and call her again, only for that stupid robot to answer and tell me to leave a message for the second time.

“MOM! Why aren’t you answering the phone?! I need you to come home! What is WRONG with you?! You can’t just ignore me, you — you can’t!”

I hang up again and I’m really freaking out, like really really freaking out so I just sit back down on the floor and try to calm myself down and think logically, that if I go to the hospital or if Mom calls back, I won’t admit that I went on a binge.  _ I’ll just say I ate a whole lot because I didn’t eat lunch in school today and I made myself sick and I threw up blood. Yeah, that’s what I'll say. Smart, right? They’ll buy it… _

But I can’t stop shaking, I can’t stop crying. My whole body is just shaking and maybe… maybe it’s because the last time I saw blood — my blood — surprise me like that was when… well, it was when…

_ She closed her eyes and tilted her head back so the hot water could spray all over her chest, but she saw him when she closed her eyes. And she didn’t see the part of him that was hovering over her while his waist moved. She saw the part of him that was somehow way, way worse. _

_ She saw the way he looked over his shoulder and grinned when he was finished. The way his eyes glossed over her naked body and he leaned in to kiss her cheek just one last time before he got up. He pulled his boxer shorts up, stretched, and made a noise. _

_ Her eyes snapped open in that instant, and she lowered her head, tilted it down to the ground so she could start to put shampoo in her hair. _

_ But with her head geared towards the ground, she noticed the way the shower water ran pink against the bath mat. She lifted her feet, examined for any cuts or scrapes. _

_ And then she realized where she was bleeding from. _

I pull my knees up into my chest and put my forehead against them, trying to take deep breaths in and out, the way Jessica taught me. If I can just control my breathing…

I want my Mom. I want her to scoop me up and hold me and put me on the kitchen counter the way she did when my finger was bleeding. I want her to give me a hug and tell her that it’s okay. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want my Mom. I wish my Mom was home…

_ She sat on the edge of her bed, droplets of water still clinging to her skin, fuzzy towel wrapped around her as her hair dripped down her back. She stared at her closet like she could see something beyond the walls. _

_ Finally, when a bead of water rolled down her back and gave her the chills, she snapped out of it. And she picked up her cell phone and opened up the calendar app. _

_ She counted the days since her last cycle, hoping that maybe Mother Nature decided to bless her a few days early. But when she saw that it had only been eight days since the end of it, she realized then that he was the reason for her bleeding… _

_ And she didn’t want that to be true. _

_ So rather than dwell on it, she tossed her phone to the side and grabbed her makeup bag from her vanity. She was determined to put this behind her, determined to let herself forget. _

_ And that started with putting makeup on her wrists to make the bruises — bruises that he put there — disappear. _

“Quinn…?” A soft voice follows the sound of the storm door opening, then slamming shut. “I know you’re in here, I saw your car in the driveway.”

Her voice makes me lift my head up.  _ I must have fallen asleep. I must have. I must have sat on the floor and cried myself to sleep because I absolutely have to be dreaming because there’s NO way in hell that voice belongs to who I think it belongs to. _

“You really shouldn’t leave your door open,” her voice sounds further away now, like she’s either looking all through my house or I’m slowly waking up from my dream and it’s fading. “I would’ve come sooner, but Mercedes said I should stay and rehearse for sectionals because she knows you and thought that you would’ve wanted a minute alone. So I came after Glee club.”

I stare at the archway that leads into the kitchen, waiting to see if and praying that I’m not dreaming.  _ Please come in here… please be you… please. _

“Quinn…?”

The last time she says my name is when she finally stands in the archway and looks in on me sitting here on the floor, knees tucked into my chest. And she just looks at me, you know? Like she’s silently taking it all in or something. Like she just walked in on the scene of a crime and her brain is trying to process everything that she’s seeing long enough to make a lasting memory. 

She looks at me. Mashed potatoes on my dress, blood clutching the corners of my mouth, tears streaking across my cheeks, hair damp and matted from sweating. Guilty look written all over my face.

Then she looks at my kitchen. Empty food containers scattered all around me like evidence of the murder I’d committed. Tiny droplets of blood trailing from the sink to my place on the floor.

And I look at her. Black beret on her head, matching her black skirt and heather gray blazer. Hair shiny and even-lengthed, resting just below her breast line. Concern and fear scrawled on her face as if written in permanent marker.

And for a second, I really think she might say something or maybe she’ll even cry because she’s clearly seeing me at my worst. Hell, I even prepare myself for the idea that she might keep up with her week long tradition of completely ignoring me and walk away.

I expect everything except what she actually does.

I don’t expect it when she says nothing and holds her chin up high like she just decided that she’s going to be the strong one here. She walks over to me slowly, like negotiating with a hostage keeper or armed murderer. Then, she sits down.

And I think that’s it, I really do.

But Rachel never ceases to surprise me, so I’m a little flabbergasted when she scoots so that her back is against the fridge like mine.

And she puts her arms around me.

* * *

I don’t know what to think as she brings the comb up to the top of my head and drags it through my hair for the hundredth time. For the first time in a long time, I just have no idea what to think. And I have no idea what to say either, which is fine because we’ve been silent for so long that talking would probably be weird.

We haven’t talked in about an hour.

She sat with me on the kitchen floor for a good ten minutes, saying nothing with her mouth but everything with her actions. She pulled me closer so that my head was resting on her shoulder, and we sat just like that for ten minutes. It felt like the world stopped spinning when she held me like that, and I almost fell asleep with the way her thumb kept stroking my shoulder.

It was like she had an internal timer set inside her body or something. It was like she said “okay, Quinn. I’m going to let you feel all of this and be really sad for ten minutes but after that ten minutes is up, we’re pulling you together and letting all this sadness go.” Because after ten minutes of sitting there in silence like that with her thumb just rubbing my shoulder while I grew dizzier and dizzier inhaling her scent, she stood up. And I looked up at her like some little kid watching Santa Claus come to life or something. She held out her hand and I took it and let her pick me up onto my feet.

And it was like I forgot how to walk or something, because I let her lead me. I let her lead me up the steps and into my bathroom. And I just watched like an idiot as she turned the water on and pulled the nozzle to make the shower come on. She squeezed my shoulder tight and looked into my eyes like the way people do before they tell each other “I love you”, except she didn’t say that. She just left me alone and closed the door behind herself. And the whole time I was standing there in the shower, not washing up, just letting the water hit me… I just kept thinking that I wish she would never leave.

I dried off and got dressed and heard some shuffling downstairs and as I walked down, I said a few prayers that it was still her and not my mother because even though I wanted my mother —  _ cried  _ for my mother — just a second ago, Rachel was the only person in the world I wanted to see.

I could’ve died happy the moment I walked into my kitchen and saw her sitting on the bar stool, eating a cookie and drinking from my favorite mug. The mess was gone, too. No blood, no mashed potatoes, no chicken container, no cream cheese wrapper, no vomit in the sink. Everything was completely cleaned up and it was as if nothing had ever happened in my kitchen.

And somehow, she knew what I meant when I gave her that look. That look that said “follow me to the living room.” She knew what I meant by looking at her like that, I know she did because she came. And she sat down on the couch. And I went to sit next to her, I did. But she put her hand on my arm and made me sit in front of her. And that’s when I saw that meeting in the living room was her idea all along, because she had a brush and comb waiting on the coffee table.

And I swear to you that magic does exist. If you’re ever in doubt, all you have to do is close your eyes and feel her touch. Her gentle, loving hands, caressing your scalp as her fingers trace the strands that the comb already went over. It’s the closest thing to magic you’ll ever feel, I swear it.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you lately,” her voice makes me open my eyes and for a second there, I forgot how unfair it is that she even speaks in a perfect pitch. “I’m just trying my best. I’m trying to keep my head on straight for sectionals but it’s hard when I’m just so mixed up, I…” she takes a breath after doing that ranting thing I love so much. “...I told my dads that I think I’m…”

I instantly stop breathing and I know she picks up on that because she continues, like she’s doing damage control.

“They’ve been really supportive. Talking about getting me a counselor and taking me to this big parade or whatever,” she mumbles. “And I know I should be happy because not a lot of kids get that kind of support from their parents about something like this, but.” She sighs. “It kind of just makes me feel weird.”

I turn around so I’m facing her. “Look, Rachel, I —“

“You don’t understand what this will mean for me….what it will mean for my career,” she looks away from me, up into a corner as if avoiding eye contact is going to make her tears stay in or something. It doesn’t work though, because they come rolling down her cheeks soft as ever. “It’s just so… hard…”

“I know,” I whisper. “I know, I know…”

“And I keep thinking that maybe if I just ignore it, you know? Like if I ignore it, it’ll go away and I can pretend like it’s a part of me that doesn’t exist. Because I can be happy without it. I was happy without it for seventeen years, how hard could it be to go back to that? It’s not like my life would be miserable. I could get married… maybe to Finn, and settle down and have kids. And my life wouldn’t suck, it’d be fine.”

_ Ouch… _

“But then I look over in the choir room and I can’t pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat when I look at you,” she says and another tear rolls down her cheek. I have to fight the very soft, slight smile that wants to spread across my face. “And I can’t pretend like I don’t think about you. What you’re doing, what you’re eating, what you’re thinking, who you’re with, what kind of shampoo you use, what you sing in the shower. I want to know your favorite song, your favorite food, your favorite movies, your favorite color… and that’s new to me. I never felt that way before. Not with Finn, not with Jesse. And I keep thinking that this is it, you know? This is what it’s always supposed to have been like but it never was like that because I could still live without them. If I needed to. If I ever needed to pick between Finn and my career or Jesse and my career, I could do it because my life won’t stop if those boys aren’t it. But you…. Quinn, when I think about my life without you, I just… I don’t see it.”

_ I have never heard anybody talk about me that way… _

I get up off the floor and sit beside her on the couch because I was broken an hour ago and she picked up all my broken pieces and put me back together again. So I’m going to do the same for her.

I wrap my arm around her shoulder and lean back so that we’re both comfortable against the couch.

“...OGX.”

Tears still making her eyes look like they’re sparkling, she looks over at me. “...What?”

“My shampoo. I use OGX. The one that comes in the white bottle with coconut milk and whipped egg.” I say and she laughs. That real soft kind of laugh, too. The one that’s more like blowing air through your nostrils than anything else. “And I don’t sing in the shower often, but ‘We Belong Together’ is usually my go-to and I don’t know why because I don’t even like Mariah Carey that much. I mostly listen to the junk that comes on the radio, so I’m really into that ‘Motivation’ song at the moment, you know by that girl that was in that girl group?”

“Fifth Harmony. It’s Normani,” she grins.

“Yeah, that’s the one!” I nod my head and keep going because she does actually seem interested. “I don’t know if it counts as a food, but I like ginger ale because it’s good whether it’s cold or warm. But if that doesn’t count as a food then I really like my mom’s chicken parm. But it has to be my mom’s or I won’t eat it. And I don’t want to be all basic white girl, but my favorite movie is ‘Mean Girls’... for obvious reasons. But I’ve also watched ‘Titanic’ enough time quote the entire thing from start to finish, so. Maybe that could be a favorite too. And my favorite color to wear is yellow but my favorite color to look at is pink.”

“Favorite book?” she lies her head on my shoulder and laces her fingers between mine so that we’re holding hands.

“I don’t read enough to have one but I liked ‘The Great Gatsby’ when we read it freshman year.” And it’s like I’m doing it out of habit because I don’t even think about it when I press my lips to her forehead. And she doesn’t even blink. It’s like it’s totally normal.

“How tall are you?”

“Five-five.”

“Pizza or chicken?”

“Pizza for sure.”

“Ice cream or cake?”

“Ice cream cake.”

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

“Chocolate.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Both.”

“Rachel or Mercedes?”

That question makes me stop.  _ I really don’t know…  _ She turns her head and looks me in the eye with a playful grin so I know she’s just joking but I still don’t know how to honestly answer the question…

“Depends on the day,” I mumble and wink my eye at her. 

“Today?”

“Rachel, for sure,” we both laugh. “Look, I understand what you’re going through. And how confusing it is for you and your mind. Believe me, I understand. But please… don’t ever ignore me like that again.”

“I won’t,” she shakes her head.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it’s not too confusing when Quinn switches back to third person narratives every time she flashes back to what happened after she was raped. Just try to remember that Quinn dissociated a bit after she was raped so she doesn’t feel like her body is her body anymore and doesn’t feel like herself is herself. All the “shes” and “hers” are Quinn, but she tells it in third person because she doesn’t feel like herself anymore. She feels like an outsider in her own mind and body.


	27. Just Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, which is why I just decided to write it and post it today. So... yay for two updates! :D The next few chapters will be pretty long ones, but this one is leading into them so I made it short and just posted it.

* * *

* * *

I put my car in park about five minutes ago, and I’ve been waiting with my hand on the door handle to get out ever since.

I watch as dozens of kids, my peers, all drag their backpacks and go in through the double doors like throwing themselves into the halls of McKinley High is the most normal and unimportant thing that they’ll ever do, and for once, I wish I was just like them.

I wish I could hold my head up high with my backpack weighing me down and strut into the school like busting out eight hours inside of it will do nothing but make me a little stronger in the end. Most of the ones I watch go in haven’t a care in the world. A few girls wear sweatpants about five sizes too big and some of the boys wear basketball shorts even though it’s fifty degrees today. Some of the girls have their hair thrown up into lazy buns and the boys wear baseball hats. Some of the girls wear rundown sneakers and the boys even wear slippers. I would give anything to be like that.

Instead, I sit here behind the wheel of my car, just watching the people that I’m actually a little jealous of because when I woke up this morning, I told myself that I would be like them.

I told myself that I would put on the only pair of jeans that I own and put my old Cheerios hoodie on, too. And I was going to wear the sneakers that I save for rigorous Glee club rehearsals and complete the look by putting my hair up into a ponytail. People would know that something was wrong with me just by the way I dressed, but I was going to debut the new Quinn. New Quinn doesn’t care about how she looks, she cares about being comfortable. New Quinn doesn’t always feel like wearing dresses and keeping her hair done up. New Quinn knows that everyone in the entire school is aware that she spent last summer in a treatment center for supposedly trying to kill herself, but New Quinn is embracing that. In fact, if anybody else is struggling with depression and anxiety and being raped and missing their child and coming out as gay? New Quinn will help you. New Quinn is brave. New Quinn is not a coward.

But unfortunately for me, Same Quinn is the one that rolled out of bed this morning.

I started to put the jeans on, I swear I did. I even had one leg through and was sitting on my bed to put the other leg through. But then I thought about it a little too much and caught a glimpse of my favorite brown skirt and saw the yellow cardigan I always wear to go with it and I got scared. Because it seems like there’s no room for New Quinn to exist and even if there was, it’s so much easier to be the Same Quinn.

Bailey told me once that change is supposed to make you feel uncomfortable, but I don’t like it. I don’t want to be uncomfortable. I want to stay as I am in my own bubble.

But see, the problem is that Same Quinn doesn’t want to go inside. New Quinn could strut in there in her jeans and hoodie with her chin up. New Quinn would answer any and all questions about the treatment center she went to, and she would take every snide comment about it in stride. That’s the difference between the Quinn who’s wearing jeans and a hoodie and the Quinn who’s sitting inside her car having a panic attack over the fact that everyone now knows.

_ I could always ditch. I could always just go back home and try to debut New Quinn tomorrow. Mom’s not home. She had to go to work for a couple hours today and after that, she’s going to a business lunch with Dad. So she won’t be home for a while and she’ll never know that I didn’t go. Except maybe if the secretary calls her to let her know that I’m not in school but by then, she’ll already be busy with work and lunch with dad that she won’t even care that I skipped school. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll ditch. I’ll give everybody a day to let the shock of Quinn Fabray needing a treatment center wear off. It’s Tuesday, so Bailey might be upset if I’m absent and missing our session, but if I tell her what happened and how Mercedes stabbed me in the back, I’m pretty sure she’ll understand. She’ll get it. I can skip. _

Just as I go to turn my car back on so I can drive home, my phone buzzes on the passenger’s seat next to me.

**New iMessage**

**Tuesday, October 23**

**7:16 a.m.**

**RACHEL: ** Text me when you get to school. We saved you a seat in the cafeteria ♡

  
It’s like that heart emoji holds some kind of special power within it. Because I swear, the second I see it, I open up my door. And I grab my backpack.

And I get right out of the car.

* * *

_ So far, so good. Nobody’s staring, nobody’s saying anything. So far, we’re fine. Everybody is talking to each other and nobody’s eyes are following me. No sign of Santana. No sign of Puck. This is good. Maybe I can just coast through the day. _

The scent of french toast sticks and breakfast sausage makes my mouth water, and if things continue to go as well as they’re going right now as I’m sifting through the tables to make my way over to where Tina, Rachel and Backstabber of the Month are sitting, I’ll probably go up and get in line so I can get some.

I’m a little glad I didn’t end up wearing jeans and a hoodie today, because that would have attracted attention. I know it sounds terrible and I apologize for being stuck up and snooty, but it really is much more jaw-dropping when Quinn Fabray isn’t completely fabulous. People have come to expect greatness from me and nobody’s staring right now because I look normal. A brown skirt, a white tank top, a yellow knitted cardigan. A white headband with a bow on the left side and a pair of brown Uggs. I look like the way I have always looked. Like I own this school and everyone expects that these days. I definitely would have attracted unwanted attention by wearing the stupid hoodie and jeans.

“Hey,” I say as I put my backpack on the table and sit down. Mercedes opens up her mouth and starts to say something to me, but I turn my back toward her so I’m facing Rachel. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”

Rachel and Tina both notice the way I turn my back on Mercedes — literally — but neither one of them say anything and I’m glad because if anyone says anything to me along the lines of “you should forgive her,” I might freak out. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive her. She’s the reason this entire situation just got more complicated and if she’s willing to run her big fat mouth about that, what else is she willing to run her big fat mouth about?

Did she tell people what Puck did to me?

How about the fact that my baby cried when I held her?

Did she tell everyone about my thing… whatever it is… with Rachel?

How am I supposed to trust her after this?

“So are you sure that Mr. Schue said that Blaine is getting it or are you just assuming because that’s the way we practiced it?” Tina asks Rachel.

Even though my back is turned to her, Mercedes nudges her styrofoam tray toward me, and I look down at it. She left a piece of sausage and three french toast sticks on it. She must have noticed me eyeing Tina’s tray. I hate that she knows me so well. And I hate that she’s clearly trying to get me to forgive her.

“No, he literally said that Blaine is taking the lead on ‘Hear You Me.’ He said he’s letting Blaine take the lead on it for the assembly on Friday because I have two solos for sectionals that I have to worry about. As if I can’t do both? We all know Blaine’s a great singer but if we really want to do the assembly any justice, I should get the lead.” Rachel is ranting again and I’m trying not to smile but she’s just so cute when she does that and I can’t help it.

“Yeah, but at least it’s just the assembly,” Mercedes says and pushes her tray just a little closer to me. I keep my back turned towards her and pick up a piece of sausage with my two fingers. “It might actually be nice to give someone else a chance.”

“Yeah, Blaine works hard. He deserves it,” Tina agrees and I say nothing. I just keep chewing on my sausage.

“I didn’t say that he doesn’t deserve it, but over me? Shouldn’t this be about the person who can sing the song the best? It’s not  _ just  _ an assembly, it’s honoring our dead classmate. Just because he —“ she stops as soon as I put my hand on her leg under the table. She’s getting all worked up and she’s going to make a spectacle of herself and get herself all flustered and she needs to stop. So I rub her knee. Gently. But still hard enough for her to know I’m here. “I just really want to honor Karofsky is all I’m saying and I think the best singer in Glee club should do it.”

I close my eyes as soon as she says that because I feel the tension put into the air as soon as the last syllable rolls off her tongue.  _ God, Rachel. Why… did you have to say that…?  _ I open my eyes slowly, only to be met with Mercedes and Tina both looking at her like they want to reach across the table and choke her.  _ And this is the reason why they never wanted to hang out with her… _

_ She’s not that bad guys, I swear. She just feels threatened. You have to know how to handle her and understand her comments. She didn’t mean you guys are bad singers. She knows you’re both really good too. It’s just that she feels threatened. Blaine is edging into her spotlight and she’s insecure. That’s all. Please don’t be mad at her. Please don’t kick her out of the group and want to strangle her. I know she comes off like that but she doesn’t mean it. _

“So what if Mr. Schue gave the solo to me?” Mercedes asks, adding even more unnecessary tension to the already awkward situation. “Then what?”

Rachel looks like she’s seconds away from crying, but she tries to defend herself anyway. “Mercedes, I’m not saying that —“ 

“She didn’t mean it like that,” I snap at Mercedes and I know that I’m probably only snapping because I’m already mad at her but I can’t help it. “What she meant was that —“

And as if the school building knows that this situation is about to escalate and blow up way beyond our repair, the bell rings to dismiss us all to go to first period.

Rachel stands up before any of us, like she’s about to storm away and go cry in a corner somewhere, and I just want to make sure that doesn’t happen, so I get up as fast as I can, too. I grab my backpack and my books off the table and Mercedes’ tray that I was eating off of so I can throw it away, but Rachel is moving super fast. And I know she’s upset because she forgot the oversized purse that she keeps her books inside of.

“Ra—“ I start to call after her, but someone way bigger and way taller than me bumps into me as I walk and everything in my hands — my books, my backpack, the tray — goes crashing to the floor. And now I’m annoyed. Because I could have definitely caught up to her if this big 500-pound hog would just watch where he’s going.

I don’t even know his name, I just know that he’s a linebacker on the football team and he has really bright red hair. He mumbles a half-assed apology to me as I bend over and start picking up everything that he made me drop.

And as I’m bent over, literally just trying to clean up the stuff that the football player should be helping me clean up, I catch a glimpse of black and white Adidas sneakers standing off to the side of me.

And my whole body just kinda freezes, you know? Like when you step outside into the cold air for the first time all day and you feel it chilling you to the bone? Even though you have a coat on your body and a scarf around your shoulders and a hat on your head, you still feel the cold hitting every inch of your body. It makes you stand still. It stops you in your tracks. It makes you freeze.

Because I’d realize those Adidas anywhere, and I know exactly who they belong to. They’re beat-up and hardly white anymore. Creased at the toes with dirty, frayed laces. The logo is on the side is worn off and the stripes are peeling off. They’re a pair of shoes that he should have gotten rid of a long time ago, but always says that they’re “seasoned” and he can’t part with them but in reality, he holds onto them because they’re the one thing his dad ever bought for him.

“That’s a sight I surely missed,” he has laughter in his voice and it makes my stomach lurch. And I suddenly feel like I have to pee. “Never thought I’d see Fabray’s ass in the air again… of course last time, it didn’t have any clothes on it.”

And it happens just as quick as I blink. I can’t even remember how I got from point A to point B. I don’t know how I went from being bent over, picking things up to holding Puck’s body against the wall with my forearm pressed against his throat. And my arm is shaking, too. I’m holding him against the wall, choking him, so tight that my arm is shaking.

_ You son of a… _

“DON’T YOU EVER, EVER, EVER TALK TO ME LIKE THAT.” I feel the blood rushing to my face and I feel hot, like the anger is just consuming my body like a volcano erupting inside of me and I see red. And you think that is just an expression, you know? Seeing red? You think that’s just an expression until it’s happening to you. And your arm is crushing your rapist’s windpipe. And you really, really, really think you’re going to kill him, you do. You think you’re going to kill him because if he was dead then at least maybe you can start to move on with your life when it sure seems like he moved on with his. He took everything from your life and got to move on like nothing ever happened. So you think you’re going to kill him because all the anger in your body is just being released through your arm crushing his windpipe. But then you remember that you’re not a monster like him. And you don’t want to kill him, at least not really. Because he killed you when he raped you, and you don’t want to be like that. So you let him go.

I take my arm away from Puck’s throat and watch him cough the life back into himself. My blood is still pumping and I can hear my heart beating in my ears. It’s loud, above the sound of everything else. It’s so loud that I hardly notice the very small crowd that had gathered around us. Yet, somehow, I was able to hear the fat redheaded linebacker say, “Dude, you need to go back to the loony bin.”

And that’s it for me.

I grab my backpack and leave my books and the food I dropped and walk towards the main doors. I’m skipping today, and that’s final.

“Quinn!” I hear Mercedes calling after me as I leave the cafeteria, but I don’t stop walking. “Quinn! Quinn, wait!”

“Just leave me the  _ FUCK  _ alone, okay?” I stomp up the small hallway and never look back. I think it’s both unhealthy and unnatural to store this much anger inside such a small body.

“Where are you going?!”

“I’m skipping! I’m not staying here!”

“Okay then, wait up! Wait up! I’ll come with you!”

When she says that, I finally turn around and stop walking. “I don’t want you to! I want to be alone! Leave me alone!”

“No!”

I try to calm myself down by taking a few deep breaths, because I see Tina coming down the hallway behind Mercedes but what really makes me calm down is the fact that Rachel is coming, too. And she saw me fall apart yesterday so I don’t want her to see me falling apart again.

“Where are you going?” Mercedes stands in front of me. “Are you going home?”

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “But I’m getting outta here, I can’t stay here, I can’t… I can’t stay. I have to go. I shouldn’t have even come today.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mercedes shrugs. “Wherever you’re going. I’m coming to.”

“And me too,” Tina puts her hand on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be alone today. Not after that.”

Tina and Mercedes both look behind themselves, eyes falling on Rachel. Rachel, who just looks at the ground and says nothing. They look at her and wait for her to agree… but I know Rachel… and I know that she won’t.

“You guys…” Rachel says softly. “I… I can’t. It’s the week of sectionals, and I…”

“Rachel, Quinn needs us,” Mercedes says. “We can’t just —“

“After what happened with Karofsky, we need to stick together.” Tina says.

“But it’s sectionals!” Rachel says. “It’s sectionals week and Mr. Schue would KILL us if —“

“We’ll be back in time for Glee club,” Mercedes rolls her eyes.

“...You guys are insane. It’s the week of sectionals and… and I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m not throwing away my career. Not for some silly high school friendship that probably won’t even last.” And that’s the last thing she says before she walks up the hallway….

_ Is that what she thinks? I know how much sectionals and how much her career means to her but… Rachel… _

“Come on,” Mercedes mumbles and grabs my hand. “We don’t need her. Let’s just get you out of here.”

Tina grabs my other hand and the three of us walk out the double doors and through the parking lot to my car.

_ I would do it for her… _

_ If she needed me today like the way I think I need her, I would do anything in this world to make sure she knows that I’m here for her. I wouldn’t call her a silly high school friendship that won’t last. She means more to me than that. How could she say that? After the day we had together yesterday? After… after everything? She thinks that this is just a silly friendship? _

_ How could she say that…? _

“We could go to my house,” Mercedes suggests as she puts her seatbelt on. And I’m just too hurt and too upset to even care that she’s coming with me. I want to kick her out of my car because she’s the reason for this being a big shit-fest today, but I want Rachel. I want Rachel here with me so bad that I don’t even care….

“My parents aren’t home and we can be alone and just watch movies or something.” She continues.

“Well my parents aren’t home either, so you can take your pick.” Tina fastens her own seatbelt.

_ I can’t believe Rachel isn’t here… I can’t believe she’s not — _

All three of us startle at the same time when we hear a knock at the passenger’s side window.

And I can’t control the smile on my face when I look over and see that she didn’t let me down. That she’s standing right there, waiting for us to let her in.


	28. No Excuses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I updated like three times within the last 24 hours and I noticed that some people were saying that they weren’t properly notified of the updates. So just make sure that you did read chapter 27 before this chapter, otherwise there’s some major spoilery stuff that you’re going to read ahead. Chapter 27 was just super short and only served one purpose — to bridge over into this chapter here — so that’s why I wrote it and updated it so quickly.
> 
> Also;; no trigger warning for this chapter, but you might need tissues. I cried while I wrote it so you might cry too. Just a heads up.
> 
> ~Enjoy! :D

* * *

* * *

I pride myself on being a very responsible teen driver.

Sure there are times when I’ll look down to answer a text message really quick and sometimes I forget to use my turn signal when I merge into highway traffic. And okay yeah, there was this one time when I accidentally hit a guardrail because I was trying to avoid hitting a family of ducks. And I can’t forget about that one time I crossed a median in the middle of the turnpike because I made a wrong turn, but it was okay because no other cars were around and I didn’t damage my tires. I know it looks bad on paper if I list every stupid mistake I’ve made on the road since I got my license, but I swear I’m a responsible driver. Everybody has to wear their seatbelts in the car with me, and I’m (usually) really good with keeping my eyes focused solely on the road. 

So it’s only from the corner of my eye that I notice Tina’s hand slowly reaching up into the front seat with me and Mercedes. She’s being really quiet, too; like she’s trying to sneak and I have to swallow my laugh so I don’t blow her cover because I know exactly what she’s reaching for.

On the middle compartment where both me and Mercedes’ elbows lie, her phone is plugged into my sound system and we’ve been in the car for about 15 minutes now, stuck listening to her playlist, which includes a whole lot of Beyoncé and Whitney Houston. I’m not dissing Mercedes’ taste in music or anything because it really is pretty decent, but the songs she’s been playing aren’t exactly the kind of songs you think about listening to when you’re in a car with three of your best girlfriends with nothing but the wide open road ahead of you.

I won’t lie, every five minutes or so, the nagging reminder that I’m mad at Mercedes creeps into my mind and I grip my steering wheel so tight that it should probably turn to dust. But then I tell myself over and over again that the three of them ditched school just to make sure that I wasn’t alone today and that is very kind of them. And thinking that is usually enough for me to swallow the burning anger I feel at the fact that she’s sitting in my car beside me after betraying me like that. I can usually swallow it enough to enjoy this moment with my friends until the next wave of anger washes over me and I have to remind myself how kind they are for skipping with me again.

We don’t know where we’re going, all we know is that we’re getting out of Lima for a little. We didn’t decide if we were going to get something to eat or going to a mall or going to see a movie. All we know is that we’re in a car, driving until we’re tired and free.

Anyway, I guess Tina’s movements were quiet or slick enough, because Mercedes catches her hand just as she grabs her phone and slaps it.

“My God!” Tina is all anger with the way she slams herself back into the seat and folds her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think someone else can have the aux cord for just ONE song?!”

“This is a classic!” Mercedes says as she turns around. “What sane person doesn’t like Heartbreak Hotel?!”

“I’m just as big a Whitney fan as anybody, but you’re killing me. Literally. Killing me.”

“And if I have to listen to another song straight off the b-side of a Beyoncé album, I will jump out of the car and hitchhike back to Lima.” Rachel makes me laugh with the way she says that. _ Everything she does is just so… exciting to me. I hope I never stop feeling like this… _“I would rather cut off my own ears and I’m not being dramatic.”

Mercedes’ jaw playfully drops and with a laugh, she faces me. “Well it’s Quinn’s car, and she gets to decide what we listen to. So what’s it gonna be, Quinn? The lovely sounds of Beyoncé and our fallen goddess Whitney? Or death metal music and showtunes ripped straight off broadway musicals?”

I flick my turn signal on so I can get into the right lane and glance in my rear view mirror to see if anything is behind me before I merge. “Give Rachel the aux cord,” I mutter, focused on making sure this eighteen-wheel truck can see me while I’m merging.

Rachel and Tina both “ha-ha” Mercedes was she unplugs her phone, celebrating their win. I can’t help but grin right along with them and with the side-eye that Mercedes just gave me, I know she thinks that I only gave Rachel the aux cord because I’m in love with her, which… is partially true, I guess, but also because I’m just really curious as to what kinds of songs are on her phone.

“Nothing that sounds like a kindergartener wrote it or like it belongs on a theater soundtrack though, okay?” I look into the backseat through my mirror, and she’s just grinning from ear to ear as she shoves the cord into her phone’s port. “I mean it” I say. “I’ll disconnect the aux cord and we’ll listen to the radio!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” she waves me off with her hand and for a minute, I forget about everything except for this right here.

When she presses play and the first song of her choice comes on, and I turn the volume up just a little bit louder because even though I’m really not the biggest fan of what she just chose, I suddenly love it just because she does. Mercedes groans all dramatic and Tina laughs while Rachel tries to defend her taste in music by saying that it’s actually a really good song if they would just listen to the lyrics.

I feel that little spark of infinity again.

You know that feeling you get when you’re driving down the highway, not really knowing where you’re going and not really caring? Because all the people you love are in the car with you and your hair is down and your smile is honest and your stomach hurts from laughing? A sore stomach for all the right reasons, they call it. And maybe you’re not the best singer but that’s okay because the girls in your car don’t care if you’re Whitney Houston or Rebecca Black. They care about who you are and how you’re feeling.

It’s that feeling of infinity. And I feel it again as we all — Mercedes included, even though she just trash talked the song — open our mouths and belt at the top of our lungs as chorus rolls around.

** _“I can drink whiskey and red wine. Champagne all night. Little Scotch on the rocks and I’m fine, I’m fine…”_ **

And that feeling — that infinity — rises up inside and swallows me whole as the four of us get as loud as we can possibly be for our favorite part.

** _“But when I taste Tequila! Baby I still see ya! Cuttin’ up the floor in a sorority t-shirt, same one you wore when we were… Sky high in Colorado! Lips pressed against the bottle! Swearin’ on a bible baby I’d never leave ya, I remember how bad I need ya… when I taste Tequila! When I taste Tequila!”_ **

All four of us laugh so hard that I swear the car shakes. And I don’t know why we’re laughing, because we sounded really good together. But we’re laughing and laughing and laughing some more and I think that we’re never going to stop which is fine with me. Maybe we’re laughing because we weren’t expecting this song from Rachel. Maybe we’re laughing because Mercedes acted like she hated it but was belting louder than all of us. Or perhaps maybe we’re laughing because right here, right now, is all we’ve ever needed. I don’t know what it is about this feeling between us. But I hope to God I never stop feeling this way.

As the verse continues to play, Rachel and Tina both lean up so their heads are in the front seat with me and Mercedes, and I turn the radio down so they can all hear what I’m about to say.

“Lets go to Cedar Point,” I suggest. I’m not sure how serious I am with my suggestion, but I realize after I say it that I’m very hopeful. _ Maybe I am serious… _ “I’m serious, guys. Let’s just go.” _ Or maybe I’ve officially lost my mind. _

“Are you… actually insane?” Rachel scoots so that she’s even further in the front seat with me and Mercedes and her face is right next to mine. I have to seriously fight the urge to turn my head a couple inches and just kiss her… “Like, clinically insane? That’s CRAZY, Quinn!”

“Yeah, we don’t have any money,” Tina says next. “Well, at least, I don’t. I didn’t bring any. I didn’t even bring my jacket.”

Mercedes turns and faces me. “And you know it’s like two hours away, right? It’s all the way in Sandusky.”

“So?!” I merge into the lane that will lead us to the exit toward Sandusky and press down on my brake since traffic’s stopped. “Come on, guys. Don’t be boring. We’re sixteen years old. When are we ever going to be this spontaneous again?!”

“Quinn, we literally can’t just go two hours away to Cedar Point!” Mercedes raises her voice a little and it’s a swift reminder that I’m actually supposed to be mad at her right now. _ Give me one good reason not to kick you out of my car right now… _“Do you hear yourself right now?”

“Tickets are like $50 to get in, plus we’re going to need to eat lunch. I didn’t bring a hundred bucks to school with me, did any of _ you _bring a hundred bucks to school with you?” Tina looks at all three of us. “Didn’t think so.”

“And we have to be back by 3:45 for Glee club, remember? Mr. Schue said if we miss even _ one _ rehearsal this week that he’s banning us from performing at sectionals and I can’t be banned!” _ She’s so cute when she panics. _“This is my career, there could literally be scouts in the audience, scouts that see me perform and want to SIGN me! I cannot be banned from performing.”

“Rachel… shut up,” I mumble to her as I’m turning around to face her because traffic is still at a standstill. She looks at me like she can’t believe I actually just told her to shut up and to be honest, I can’t believe I said that either. But in a way, it kind of felt… good? Because it’s like a little piece of our relationship hasn’t changed and there’s still that comfort and normalcy. It’s like for a second, we’re the old Rachel and Quinn and I didn’t realize how much everything between us had changed until I just told her to shut it.

And it’s weird, because she does. She actually does shut up and stops panicking as soon as I tell her to and it feels weird. A good weird. The kind of weird that I like. Weird because I have the power to stop her from having one of her anxious meltdowns.

“You have two solos for sectionals. Not one, but two. Do you really think Mr. Schue would pull your solos? Who the hell would he give them to? He can’t give them to our second powerhouse because she’s in the car with us and she’ll be in trouble, too. If he takes your solos away it screws the entire numbers up and he wouldn’t do that so close to sectionals.”

“She’s right,” Tina nudges her with her elbow. “He wouldn’t just give your solos away four days before sectionals. The only person who can perform them just as good as you is Mercedes and she’s right here with us.”

“And you,” I single Tina out next. “Don’t worry about the money. I have a credit card in my wallet that has a thousand dollar limit that belongs to my dad, and I can max it out if I want to. I’d consider it payback for kicking me out last year.”

All three of them laugh when I say that and I laugh a little too, but I’m really not joking about it. I’ve been considering maxing out the American Express card for a few weeks now. Every time I go to do it, either my conscience stops me or some random twist of fate prevents it from happening. Case in point: Beth and Shelby showing up while me and Mercedes are at the mall.

“And I know it’s far. It’s an hour and a half from where we are now, but it’s literally only 8:00. We’ll get there at 9:30 and that means we’ll have like almost five hours to ride rollercoasters and eat until we explode. Five hours before we have to get on the road and go back to Lima. Come on guys. Come on. When will we ever do this again? When will we ever skip school again?”

Mercedes takes a long, deep breath. It’s the kind of deep breath that comes before she’s about to give in to me. “...Okay, I’m in.”

“...I _ do _want to ride that new rollercoaster they put in last summer,” Tina sighs. “Count me in.”

“I’m in,” Rachel mumbles but when I look back at her through the mirror because traffic started flowing again, I notice that she looks nervous. And she rests her head against the window.

But I know she’ll have a good time if she would just loosen up a little bit, I know she would.

So instead of turning the car around and doing what I know would ease her worried little mind, I turn the radio up a little louder and wait for us to sing and for infinity to return again.

* * *

“It’ll be 195.80,” the short guy with spiky hair working behind the ticket counter says, and I slide the pink and white American Express card that says Lucy Q Fabray across the bottom of it in white letters underneath the slit in the bottom of the glass. He swipes it, then shoves a piece of paper underneath the slit for me to sign.

I sign it exactly as my name appears on the card, Lucy first, and I know they all notice because they’re all crowded around me watching me sign because it’s like they didn’t believe that I actually had the credit card I claimed I did. And I’m trying to be happy today, I’m really trying. So I decide to not be annoyed with the fact that I’m going to have to explain that my name is Lucy.

“Here you go,” I use my nicest voice possible and smile at the guy when I shove his pen and the credit card slip back underneath the glass. “Thank you.”

“Do you need a receipt?” he asks.

“No thanks,” I shake my head and continue through the turnstiles. I stop right before the entrance so that Mercedes, Tina and Rachel can grab their tickets off of me. “Don’t worry about it, guys. Tickets were only $45.99… well, $48 and some change if you include tax.”

“I thought you said it was your dad’s card, though,” Mercedes grabs her ticket off of me and looks up at the big blue rollercoaster that travels over the entrance. That one is the Gatekeeper, and it’s my favorite.

“You didn’t like, steal someone’s credit card, did you?” Tina takes her ticket from me next.

“God, no,” I laugh and shake my head as I hand Rachel her ticket. She takes it and stays just as quiet as she’s been since the drive here. I’m starting to feel a little bit bad for dragging her here when she was so clearly against it, but I know she’ll have fun once we get inside. At least… I hope she will. “It’s fine, technically. But it’s on my dad’s account. I’m just an authorized user. He kicked me out and shunned me from the family but the man’s got so much money that he doesn’t realize he never took my name off the AMEX account. We’re all on it, kinda. Me, my mom and Frannie.”

“So who’s Lucy then?” Mercedes asks as we start to walk through the gates.

“Me,” I shrug like it’s the most natural thing ever and everybody should know that my name isn’t Quinn. “Quinn’s just my middle name. That’s what the Q on the card stands for.” _ Please don’t ask for the story behind it, please don’t ask for the story behind it. _

“Why didn’t I know that?”

“You never asked and it never came up,” I shrug again. _ I’m ready to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about Lucy anymore. _“Okay, come on. Let’s get in line. We only have a few hours and we’re not about to waste ‘em. We have to get on Gatekeeper. Like now, while the line isn’t long.”

I miss when me, Mom, Dad and Frannie used to come here every summer. It might sound a little bit sad, but it was the one thing I used to look forward to. It seems silly now, but I used to think about it every summer. Every summer, Mom packed up the cooler with sandwiches and juice boxes and potato chips and we made the two hour drive up to Sandusky just to go to Cedar Point for the weekend. The first day, we would always lay out our towels and have a picnic on the beach. Mom would lie on her back with her chin up towards the sun and try to get a tan while Dad used to hold Frannie’s hand while they wandered into the ocean. And I would always sit beside Mom, eating all the snacks she brought along with us, content just to make my own little sandcastle.

It’s a bit sad now looking back on it, because I realize now that it was the only thing I could count on. I knew that every summer, no matter how hot it was or how badly Dad made Mom cry, I knew that we were going to go to Cedar Point. And the entire weekend we were there, nothing from Lima ever touched us. Not the lipstick on Dad’s collar that made Mom cry, not the shattered plates that Frannie and I had to step over so we could comfort Mom while she cleaned them up, and not Dad making us watch while he “showed us how bad girls are treated” as he kept pushing our crying mother to the floor. For at least one weekend, we felt normal. Like a family of four who loved each other.

Our last summer here ended with me crying. I was thirteen and about to start the eighth grade in a week. And I was so excited because me and Mom had just went out to Kohl’s and bought me this real pretty pink and white bathing suit. It had tropical flowers all over it, and it was a very tasteful two-piece that showed off my stomach. And for whatever reason, Mom had decided that this was the year she would let me and Frannie go to the amusement park first and we’d do the beach on the last day we were there. So there I was, little and excited to debut my special new bathing suit. So I took off my towel and was ready to race Frannie, my beautiful skinny little twig of a sister, to the tide. But Dad took one look at me and handed me his t-shirt. And he told me that I was too fat for what I had on and if I wanted to swim, I had to change. It wasn’t the first time my father had called me fat before, not by fair. But this time sticks out so clearly in my memory because this was the first day I realized that I could make myself lighter by getting rid of everything I ate.

Our final trip here as a family was the last time I was here, and I used to get sad thinking about it because I didn’t realize that was the last time. Because you never think the last time is the last time. You’re laughing and you think that you still have a few more good ones left. And you’re crying over the seagulls attacking your french fries, but you think that you have plenty more trips to get plenty more french fries. And you’re laying there with your sand between your toes and the sun beating on your skin and you think that next year, you’re going to get the funnel cake with the ice cream on it from the boardwalk vendor. You never think the last time you do something is going to be the last time. Not until it’s too late.

I must have zoned out or something because I don’t remember how I got here, but the next thing I know, we’re standing in line for Gatekeeper. Mercedes and Tina are in front of me, and Rachel is behind. Quite a few paces behind, too.

I know that it’s only because we’re here on a Tuesday morning in the middle of fall, but the lines aren’t very long at all, and we’re moving pretty quickly. But Rachel seems stuck and there’s nobody behind us yet, so as the rest of the line moves, I stay put. I linger around in the back for her.

“You okay?” I ask, slipping my hand inside hers. She doesn’t answer me. She just looks down at the ground but she doesn’t have to say anything for me to know what she is thinking. She’s thinking the same thing that I’m thinking. And I’m thinking that I should stop holding her hand in front of all these people.

So I drop her hand and we both catch up with Tina and Mercedes because someone has just gotten in line behind us.

“You know, I’m really glad you decided to come,” I mumble. My back is against the metal railing of the queue line and I’m looking straight ahead. She’s standing beside me, same position. “I know that this was a big risk for you. I know that every bone in your body told you to stay at school today. But you didn’t. And I’m glad you came.”

Even when I thank her, she still says nothing. The four of us just continue on up as the line moves quickly and we’re waiting to be seated into the next available carts in no time at all.

_ I wonder if it’ll always be this hard. Like will I ever be able to hold her hand in public? Because I really want to be able to hold her hand. Will I ever be able to lean in and kiss her whenever I feel like she needs to be kissed? _

_ And why is it that every time the two of us make progress, it comes to a screeching halt again? Like yesterday the two of us were sitting on my couch, laying on each other, being all affectionate and that was fine. There was no shame in that because we were alone and behind closed doors and free to be ourselves. But now, I can’t even hold her hand without worrying about the people who are looking. I can’t — _

What pulls me out of my ever-racing thoughts is not the fact that the line moves up again and we’re clear to sit inside the cart that just pulled up in front of us. No. The thing that pulls me out of my thoughts is a hand. A hand that weasels its way underneath of mine and squeezes. _ Her _hand. And as I’m about to climb into the cart in front of Tina and Mercedes, I turn around and look at her instead because she must want my attention… right?

“You’re someone I’m willing to take risks for, Quinn,” she whispers to me. And I’m stuck for a second, I really am. I’m stuck just staring at her because I can’t believe she just said that to me. I’m stuck. So I’m grateful that she’s not, and she motions for me to continue on into the cart.

I step inside of it one foot at a time and help her inside of it, too. The both of us sit down and fasten our seatbelts like nothing just happened and she didn’t say what she just did. And I’m starting to think that maybe that’s our thing. Maybe it’s our thing to be affectionate and then act like it didn’t happen. Maybe it’s our thing to be open about it but then hide it the next second. And it’s frustrating, it is. But I kind of like having something that’s totally ours.

As the ride attendant checks our safety restraints and uses the announcements to go over everything we’re not supposed to do on the ride, I put my hand on Rachel’s kneecap. She looks down at it like she can’t believe it’s there and I’m actually touching her, so I keep it still for a second. Not totally still, I do caress it with my fingertips. But only when the ride actually starts do I finish what I initially started to do when I put my hand on her leg.

I turn my palm rightside up and offer it to her. It’s a simple offering, but an offering nonetheless and I hope she accepts it…

_ We’re not in Lima, so who cares? If someone sees us holding hands, who cares? We’re in Sandusky. We’re at an amusement park. Nobody here knows Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray. For all they know, we ARE girlfriends. We ARE gay or lesbian or bisexual or whatever it is that you want to label us, but this is us. And we’re here. And there’s nobody to laugh at us as we walk down the hallways and nobody to start rumors. This is all we’ve ever been to the people who don’t know us — the people who don’t know that we’ve ever dated men or had babies. This is who we are in this moment. This is us. _

As the chains stop clanking and we reach the top of the hill, Rachel laces her fingers inside of mine and squeezes tight. And it’s that moment before everything drops out from underneath of us and sends our stomachs into our chests. It’s a single split second, but it feels like an eternity because we know what’s about to happen; that the chains are about to let loose and send us plummeting to the uncertainty below.

Rachel squeezes my hand so tight that my fingers go numb, then sucks in a deep breath. And the scream that she lets out as we free-fall down the hill and whirl into an upside down spiral is loud enough to rupture my eardrums, but is beautiful enough to make the hairs on my arms stand up.

And maybe if I wasn’t here with the girl I’m almost certain that I’m in love with, I would scream too. Maybe I would squeeze her hand back and close my eyes as we do another corkscrew and go upside down….

Maybe I’d scream loud enough to rupture her eardrum, too.

And for a second, I think that this right here is what could be it for me. If I could freeze time and bottle it up and keep it with me and replay it every time I need something to make me feel better, it would be this moment right here. This moment of Rachel, squeezing my hand so tight that it throbs. Her silky brunette hair whipping in the wind and her perfectly straight and white teeth all shining as her mouth hangs open. When it’s just me and her. Hand in hand. Here in heart.

I wonder what the people in Lima would say if they could see us now. I wonder if they would judge or if they would be happy for us. I wonder if they would be surprised or able to see it coming. I wonder if they would laugh or cry. I wonder, I wonder, I wonder.

But that’s enough wondering for today. So for the first time in my entire life, I make the conscious decision to stop thinking.

I just want to live in this moment with her.

* * *

It’s funny how when I was on the four rollercoasters, I felt absolutely nothing but pure bliss. She held my hand on all four rides and swear all four times I died and went to heaven. She even put her head on my shoulder as we were going up the hill on Millennium Force because that hill is so steep and so high that it takes a solid five minutes to get up it. Mercedes and Tina were sitting behind us and they were both “aww”-ing and to my surprise, neither me nor Rachel said anything about it. It’s like they were teasing us for being a couple and being affectionate in public, but neither one of us felt the need to correct it or be embarrassed. So now I guess Tina knows. And I guess she doesn’t care. Because she hasn’t made a big deal about it.

Anyway, I felt nothing while I was with her. But now that she’s in the bathroom and I’m sitting here on a cold wooden bench next to Mercedes, waiting for her and Tina to come out, I feel everything and I wish I had dressed for the weather. My legs are starting to get numb because my tights aren’t thick and my brown skirt isn’t much protection. My cardigan is made from heavy knitted wool, but it doesn’t help much because I’m wearing an actual tank top underneath of it. I have never been more cold in my entire life and even though I’m drinking a large cup full of hot chocolate, I am still shivering.

Mercedes notices and drapes her thick furry jacket over my legs. I’m the only idiot who didn’t bring a jacket today because I was so focused on looking nice and acting like the same old me. Tina’s wearing a sweater and a pair of jeans with some boots and she has the jacket she wore to school, Rachel’s wearing knitted leggings and an oversized sweater and she has the jacket that she wore to school, and Mercedes wore a long-sleeved t-shirt with a pair of jeans and she has the jacket that she just gave to me. And then there’s me. Stupid me. In white tights, a brown skirt and a white cardigan. _ At least I have my UGGs to keep my feet warm… _

I don’t thank Mercedes, by the way. When she puts her jacket across my legs, I don’t say thank you and I know it bugs her that I didn’t, because she starts talking to me.

“...Thanks for letting me come today. Even though you’re clearly still mad at me, you still let me come and didn’t let it break up our friendship, so… thanks.” She sighs. “How long are you gonna be mad, Quinn? I can’t take this… this you being distant and not telling me things. It sucks.”

“Well gee, Mercedes. Let me just check my timer and see if my time for being angry is up yet. Let me get back to you. But it was set for a pretty long time!” I snap and shove her jacket back at her. _ I don’t want the jacket of a backstabber. _

“Well how long, Quinn?! If I had known that you were going to be this pissed off, I would have —“

“You didn’t know I was going to be mad?! How did you not know?! You literally told Santana Lopez that I spent my summer in treatment — a secret I TRUSTED YOU WITH. You —“

“Wait, back up, back up! Hell to the no! What?! You think I _ TOLD _ Santana?! You think that _ I — YOUR BEST FRIEND — _told SANTANA?!”

“You’re the only person I told! The ONLY person I told and if Santana knows then _ clearly _—“

“Then screw you, Quinn,” she looks me dead in the eyes when she says that, so I know she means it. It kind of hurts to hear her say that. “Seriously. Screw you. If you think for one second that I would break your trust like that and tell ANYONE, but especially SANTANA, _ anything _about you then you CLEARLY don’t know me and who I am as a friend and we don’t need to be friends any longer. I can’t believe you would actually think that I would do some shady shit like that.”

“Then how does she know?! Huh?! Answer me that! Because she found out some way and Mercedes, when she told all those people, I just… I wasn’t ready. I would’ve told. I would’ve told the club. But I just wasn’t ready ... not yet. So I need to know how she knows.”

She takes a deep breath as if she’s about to tell me something that’s going to alter the course of my life. And she scoots over on the bench, too. Real close to me. Like I might need support after she says this or something. But she doesn’t look me in the eye, which really scares me because you don’t look people in the eye while you’re about to hurt them. The only people who do that are psychopaths.

“...I guess about a month ago your mom didn’t know where you were. You remember that? You didn’t tell her that you joined Glee after school and then you went somewhere else after Glee and she got all worried, remember?”

“I went to therapy. And then to Wendy’s for dinner. We… had a fight. A big fight. And she said something really mean, so I just… drove myself to therapy after Glee club. And then to Wendy’s. She got all weird and panicky.”

“Yeah,” Mercedes nods. “...And remember when she called Puck? Because she thought he might have known where you were?”

As soon as she says that, I stop breathing and practically stop listening because I already know where this is going. And I feel all weird and empty inside, like someone punched a hole through me or shot a cannon clean through my middle. I feel so empty that I actually have to touch my stomach and make sure there’s not a hole where my guts used to be.

“He told everybody in Glee club about a month ago. But everybody decided that they were going to wait to mention it ... wait until you told them about it yourself.”

“...So everybody already knew?” I whisper, hands starting to shake. “Everybody in Glee has known for a month… and nobody told me…”

“That’s why I thought you were mad at me. I thought you were mad because I didn’t tell you they everybody already knew. But I just didn’t want to hurt you even more, you know? You already don’t talk to me about it, so I know it’s still fresh for you. So I just didn’t think that you needed to know that everybody already knew…” She puts her hand against mine to stop it from shaking. “Quinn, I would never tell anybody anything you told me not to. I would never —“‘

She pulls her hand away from mine quickly and jumps because out of nowhere I throw my hot chocolate across the way. But that’s not enough, I’m still shaking and angry so I get up and kick the garbage can. But that’s still not enough, so I keep kicking it and kicking it and kicking it and I’m cold but my tears are hot and I’m mad and I’m sad and I don’t know how I can be both at the same time and it’s not fair and why does this have to be my life and am I always going to be this angry will it ever truly go away or will it always be here inside of me and the garbage is all over my boots because I’m stepping in it but I can’t stop kicking I can’t stop kicking and I’m crying and my tears and my snot is flying all over the place and that’s gross but I don’t stop kicking and I’m just so mad and sad but more mad than sad maybe just today because most days I’m more sad than mad and it’s Tuesday and I skipped school and I’m at Cedar Point and I missed my session with Bailey and I need her and he raped me and I had a baby and my mom is never home and —

“Quinn, stop! Stop!” Mercedes grabs me by the arms and I’m all sweaty and out of breath even though it’s fifty degrees and windy. “It’s okay…”

“It’s not! It’s not okay!” I shrug really hard to get her hands off of me and more tears just keep falling and I can’t stop it and I can’t help it. “It’s not okay!” I stomp my foot, breathing heavy. People are staring but I don’t care. _ It’s not okay. _ “He keeps taking from me…” I shake my head as a fresh round rolls down. “Why does he keep taking from me? I thought I gave him everything...I thought he took everything that I had, y’know? That night, I… he took everything I had and I didn’t think I had anything left but he keeps taking… m-my…body, my dignity, my identity, my sanity, my… _ v-virginity _…” I feel like I’m going to throw up when I say that… “And now this? My privacy, my… peace of mind? Things I didn’t even know I had. Why does he keep taking things from me?”

She has tears rolling down her cheeks, too. But somehow she’s still strong with the way she wraps her arms around me and holds me as sobs rock me so hard my entire body aches. “He’ll never take anything else… never.” She whispers in my ear.

“What’s… what’s going on?” I hear Rachel’s voice come from behind me but Mercedes won’t let me out of her body-swallowing hug.

“Is everything is okay?” Tina asks.

“She’s still just a little upset about what happened in the cafeteria this morning,” Mercedes clears her throat and loosens up a bit. “She’s okay.”

I wriggle out of Mercedes’ grasp and wipe my face with the sleeves of my cardigan. Rachel looks at me like her heart is actively shattering by seeing me cry. And that’s when I decide that Mercedes is wrong. I know that she was just trying to protect me and do what she thinks I would want because she’s still the only one of my friends who knows for sure what Puck did to me, but she’s wrong to make excuses. _ I’m _wrong for letting her make excuses.

“You can’t keep trying to protect me,” I look at Mercedes with new tears lining my eyes, shaking my head. I might be crying, but I’m strong. “We can’t keep making up excuses. Because making up excuses protects him.” I sniffle and Mercedes closes her eyes, flinching because she knows what I’m about to do. “...Puck raped me, guys. Like… _ actual _rape. Like.. I said no, asked him to stop, started to cry, started to bleed rape.”

Tina’s eyes grow wider with every word I say and Rachel looks like she has actually seen a ghost. Her face is pale white, her eyes are glassy and she wears no expression. I can’t even tell what she’s thinking. And Mercedes puts her hand on my shoulder, as if she’s giving me a little bit of her strength.

“So… yeah,” I sigh. “That’s why I’ve been so…” I sniff again. “I thought I could ignore him and ignore it and ignore the way he makes me feel but I… I think I hate him? So much that it consumes me? I dunno…”

I think Tina and Rachel are both in shock. But they work differently because when Tina is in shock, she asks questions to make it feel more real. While Rachel — _ my _Rachel — hasn’t breathed since the words left my mouth. I think she might pass out.

“...How?” Tina asks, voice that tone that is just both dazed and confused.

“I was drunk and he wasn’t. He kept giving me drink after drink and he wouldn’t stop when I asked him to.”

“...When?”

“Summer before sophomore year… when I got pregnant.”

“Did… did you… does he… were you… were you like… conscious? Like… like awake?”

“Yes, Tina,” I sigh. “I remember bits and pieces but I was fully conscious. I… felt him… you know… inside of me…”

“Okay, we can stop,” Rachel mumbles under her breath so low that I can barely hear her.

“And it like… hurt?” Tina continues, still in her own personal state of shock.

“Pretty bad, too…” I nod.

“Please, Tina, stop now,” Rachel mumbles again.

“And you like… cried? But he kept… going?”

“TINA —“ Rachel starts to yell at her again but she doesn’t get much about before she makes a mad dash over to the nearest garbage can that I didn’t kick over.

And her shoulders hunch up to her ears as vomits into the trashcan.


	29. Trust

_ I hope Mr. Schue doesn’t ask us why we’re late. _

I mean, I kind of doubt that he will ask because ever since we started preparing for sectionals, he pushed the start time of Glee club until 4:00 so that we have a chance to go home and eat dinner or go grab something from the McDonald’s down the road. Most of us just stay at school and don’t leave because Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury usually order pizza for the kids who don’t have cars or can’t afford to go eat, but there are a few of us who take the opportunity to get out of McKinley for 45 minutes. Me, Rachel, Tina and Mercedes are not the ones who usually leave. We usually sit in the choir room and talk amongst ourselves until the ones who did leave came back.

The clock on the touchscreen radio my dad had installed for my sixteenth birthday last year reads 3:51 as I’m pulling into the same stall I parked in before we left this morning. We were supposed to be here at 3:45, it’s 3:51 and we are exactly six minutes late, and I think if Mr. Schue asks, I’m just going to tell him that we got stuck in traffic on the way home from Panera.

Which wouldn’t exactly be a lie, by the way. We  _ did  _ hit traffic on the way home from Panera, it just wasn’t a Panera in Lima. We decided to starve at Cedar Point, because Tina, Rachel and Mercedes wouldn’t let me pay for their food there because it was super expensive, plus we all wanted to ride as many rollercoasters as possible and it just didn’t seem like food was a priority out there. But as I was doing 80mph on the highway, my stomach started to growl and I wondered if theirs were growling too. It was only 2:10 and we were only an hour away from home by then. So I pulled off on an exit and we ran into the Panera and ordered a bunch of sandwiches and soup. And if you’ve never tried to drink broccoli and cheddar soup from a paper coffee thermos while you’re driving and trying to make it back to Lima in time, let me be the first to tell you that it freaking sucks.

I throw my gearshift in park and pull the keys from the ignition as soon as I turn my car off. Rachel is out of the car first and practically sprinting to the double doors, but Me, Tina and Mercedes are not far behind her. Even in my clunky UGG boots, I’m still keeping up with them. Rachel flings the right side of the double doors open and flies right through it and I don’t know how, but the rest of us manage to get through it before it closes, too. And for a minute, I think Rachel has missed her calling and should surely try out for the track team next year. She’d run one hell of a marathon.

“What time is it, Quinn?!” Rachel asks as she throws the doors to the cafeteria open.  _ The cafeteria isn’t a shortcut, babe. It takes just the same amount of time to get to the auditorium through the cafeteria as it would take had we gone through the gym. _

“3:52!” I yell, even though I’m tired and out of breath.  _ God I really hope Mr. Schue isn’t mad at us. I mean, we’re not technically late, are we? I mean yeah, he wants us all back and lined up for our first number by 4:00 on the nose, but we’re not that late. We’re making it on time. God, I haven’t ran this much since I was a Cheerio. God, I’m a little winded. _

I stop at the trashcan so I can throw away the Panera wrappers and containers that Rachel left in the front seat of my car when she jumped out of it like it was on fire. Mercedes and Tina pass me up and slip right through the white and red doors that lead to the auditorium, but I take a moment to catch my breath.  _ I didn’t realize how out of shape I was. _

I’ve already decided that I’m not going to apologize if we get into trouble for what we did today. If Mr. Schue yells at us for being a little late and is angry with us for skipping school today, I think I will tell him that I’m sorry if we disappointed him by skipping, but I am not sorry for having a good day away from this place. It was the best day I’ve had in a really long time. 

Me and Rachel rode in the front cart of all the rollercoasters together. We rode in the very front, where you could see everything before it was about to happen to you. And every time we were about to freefall down a giant hill or turn upside down taking on a giant loop, she reached over and held my hand. And she screamed, but she laughed when she did and it seemed like her screaming and her laughter were telling me that it is going to be okay. Sometimes I would look back and Mercedes would be laughing because Tina’s hair was blowing all over the place. And even though I cried when Mercedes told me about what Puck did, I forgot that I even cried because he wasn’t there with us. For the first time since that night, I didn’t carry him or what he did with me. I left it behind and was my own person. And I swear, I’ve never felt anything like that. I’ve never felt anything like Tina jokingly pausing the radio in the middle of a song we were screaming at the top of our lungs so we could hear just how ridiculous we sounded. Or anything like Mercedes constantly reminding me to walk through the amusement park with my head up every time I looked at the ground, because “we all believe you here, Quinn. And he will never hurt you again.” And I’ve certainly never felt anything like Rachel looking over at me multiple times on our rides, as if she needed to make sure I was still there with her.

I’m telling you, there’s no way I could ever be sorry for this day.

Just as I open the doors to enter the auditorium too, I notice that Rachel hasn’t gone in yet. Mercedes and Tina are making their way up to their spots on the stage, but Rachel is still standing where I am. Off in the wings, one foot on the ground and one foot still on the steps. She clutches the railing in her hand and stares in a way that is a little bit scary because she is not blinking. Little beads of sweat roll down her forehead, but I know that they’re probably coming from the fact that she was running so hard to get here.

“Hey,” I walk down the steps, but stop when I get to where she is. “Hey, is everything okay? Are you okay?” I slide my hand underneath of hers and she actually lets me. “Rachel…?”

“I don’t want to see him,” she says, voice so soft that I have to strain to hear her. “I keep trying to walk in there and take my place center stage but I just  _ don’t  _ want to. I don’t want to see him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know if I can, I don’t know how I could possibly even  _ look  _ at him the same way, knowing what he did.”

Only when she says that do I realize who she’s talking about. And I sigh, hard and deep before I open my mouth. “...Don’t give him that power. Don’t let him make you feel that way.”

“It makes me sick. You see what it does to me, I  _ threw up _ , Quinn. It just makes me so sick to think of anyone doing that to you.”

“Look, I know —“

“I was already a little sick over the fact that he had you like that. And maybe a little jealous, too. But it was  _ against your will _ , Quinn, I —“

“Shh,” I mumble and pull her into a hug. Mostly because I can feel how upset she’s getting and I want to calm her down, but also because I don’t want to keep hearing how what Puck did to me makes her feel. He’s hurt me enough as it is but I don’t think I can handle him hurting Rachel.

“Don’t think about it, okay?” I mumble in her ear as she squeezes me tighter for the hug. “Don’t think about it. It’s okay. I’m right here with you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I really thought we were going to make it through rehearsals completely unscathed.

When me and Rachel finally joined everybody on stage and took our places, Mr. Schue just kinda looked at us like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just counted out or beats to start and watched in the audience next to Miss Pillsbury while we performed three entire numbers from top to bottom. And he stood up when we were done, too. He stood up in front of us with his hands on his hips and it seemed like he was going to clap for us and tell us that we did a great job, but he didn’t. Instead, he took one hand off his hips, stroked his barely-there beard, and glared at the four of us school skippers. And he said “let’s take it from the top!”

* * *

It was almost 7:00 when he finally dismissed rehearsal, and he did it by finally clapping for us. And he said, “Very good, guys. That’s exactly the way I need to see it done on Saturday. Excellent job. I’ll see you back here tomorrow.” And Rachel and me and Tina and Mercedes all climbed off the stage with everyone else, happy that we finally got to go home. But as we were about to walk out the door, he said, “Rachel, Tina, Mercedes, Quinn? Can I speak to you for a second?” And we all looked at each other like we saw ghosts. I could literally feel the color draining from my face.

And that’s how we ended up here, sitting taking up four seats in the auditorium, guilty looks all over our faces. Waiting for Mr. Schue to make sure every other kid is gone because he doesn’t want everyone to hear him yelling at us, I assume. Mercedes has her hands folded in her lap as if she’s about to take the fall for all of us, Tina holds her chin in the palm of her hand and looks relatively unamused, and Rachel’s leg nervously shakes. I want to reach over and steady her leg, but I can’t move my arms from being folded across my stomach because I’ll throw up if I do. For some reason, being in trouble with Mr. Schue really makes me nauseous…

He jumps down from the stage and pulls a metal chair over so he can sit in front of us. He unfolds it and sits backwards on it, his eyes low and disappointed. Maybe even a little bit angry.

“Do I even need to start by saying how disappointed in you girls I am?” He makes eye contact with every single one of us, and every single one of us looks away. It’s like we shrink under his gaze. “Do you four even care about sectionals? About the success of this club? Because I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have been so quick to skip — to disregard MY rules. I said I needed each and every single kid in Glee club to be focused this week. Dedicated. And I come to find out that three of my most powerful vocalists and one of my best dancers just decided to skip school today. Rachel, you have two solos. Two of them. Two —“

Rachel’s eyes are glossy and she seems like she’s about to burst into tears. Even her voice is shaking when she says, “Mr. Schue, I —“ 

“I don’t want to hear any of it. I specifically said if anyone gets into any trouble the week leading up to sectionals that they were getting pulled from the performance. How am I supposed to set an example when you four are getting a detention from Principal Figgins tomorrow and I’m still going to let you perform? If it wouldn’t totally screw over all the other kids who worked hard and were here and didn’t skip school today, I would pull you. All four of you. Rachel’s solos go to Kurt and Blaine, Mercedes’ two big runs go to Santana, Tina’s go to Brittany. And it’d be nothing to put Sugar with Sam for the dance break, Quinn. Nothing.”

“You can’t do that!” I didn’t realize how much I cared about being featured in the dance break until he just threatened to take it away from me…

“You four are reckless. Out of control. Jeopardized EVERYTHING we’ve been working for. You’re not the Rachel, Tina, Mercedes and Quinn I raised. Not at all. But you’re right, Quinn,” he purses his lips together tight. “I can’t do that. Not to the other kids who were here and working.”

“We’re sorry, Mr. Schue.” Tina practically mumbles and all three of us look at her as if she’s just spoken a different language. I think all three of us were sorry, but none of us quite knew how to say it. “But we only skipped today because Quinn needed a break away from this place, and she needed us.”

“That’s right,” Mercedes nods. “And after what happened Karofsky…”

“We just didn’t want to ignore our friend,” Rachel’s voice is soft, but not as soft as her hand inside mine is. And I wish I had something to say. I wish I had something to add to what the three of them are saying, but I don’t. I just don’t.

Mr. Schue looks directly at me like he’s daring me to say something or to cobertate their stories but it’s like all the words have been sucked out of my brain and I don’t know how to form words anymore. But for the first time, it’s okay that I don’t have the words to say what I want to say. It’s okay, because my four best friends are right with me and they help me when words cannot escape me.

“One of the football players made a nasty comment in the cafeteria today,” Tina starts.

“Yeah, he said Quinn needed to go back to the… the…” Mercedes picks up where Tina left off but she can’t quite remember it the way it happened, and Rachel does, so she’s the one who finishes it.

“Loony bin,” Rachel mumbles like she’s being extra careful to not offend me.

Mr. Schue’s face settles way down, and he doesn’t look at me anymore.  _ I should tell him, though… I should tell him… _

_ If I tell him then maybe he’ll understand. _

“Alright,” he sighs and stands up. “Don’t make this a habit. You four better be in school and at rehearsal ON TIME tomorrow, Thursday and Friday. I hope I’m making myself clear.” All four of us nod our heads at the same time. “Alright. Now go. Get outta here. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

All four of us gather our things, but it’s only the three of them that really start heading for the door.  _ Rachel can take them home. She drove to school today.  _ Because I’m lingering, a little bit. And I’m still not too sure about what I’m going to do, but I think he needs to know because I don’t want him to think that I just had some mental breakdown today and I’m a basket case for no reason.

“Quinn, you coming?” Mercedes stops by the door and asks me.

“Why don’t you see if Rachel can take you home? There’s something I have to do here,” I give her a look and Mercedes knows my looks well enough to know that she shouldn’t push this. She knows me well enough to know that I will tell her later, when I’m ready to talk about what I’m going to do.

Mr. Schue starts sweeping the confetti up off the floor and I don’t know what else to do, so I grab the extra broom and start to help him.  _ I don’t know how this is going to affect everything. I don’t know if this is going to change the way things are. But he needs to know. He… he deserves to know. He’s like our dad. He’s like a father to all of us and if two of his children are feuding… he just really needs to know, doesn’t he? Just so he can be aware of it. Just so he can avoid certain pairings and stuff… _

“Thank you, Quinn,” his voice is all nice and chipper like he wasn’t just yelling at me and I find that odd.

“You’re welcome,” I say, a little under my breath. “Mr. Schue?”  _ Oh god… here goes nothing…  _ “There’s actually something I want to talk to you about.”

* * *

_ October 23 _

_ I turned off all the lights in my bedroom and closed all the vents so I couldn’t hear the air coming through. Then I put my head under my pillow and closed my eyes and laid just like that until I felt okay again. I let the quiet put things where they’re supposed to be and when everything was settled, I was fine again. _

_ I told Mr. Schue what happened to me and I instantly regretted it the second I did. _

_ He didn’t make me feel bad about it and he didn’t dwell and ask for details, which I thought he would do. He asked me if my parents knew and I told them that they did. He asked me if I told the police and I told him that I didn’t. He asked me if I was okay and I told him that I wasn’t, but that I am getting there with the help of the three girls who skipped school with me today. _

_ And then he pulled me into a hug. _

_ One of those real warm, strong, endorphin-releasing hugs, too. He held me in his arms until it was long enough to be awkward, and he looked at me with a very reassuring look and told me that he loved me and was “glad I told him.” And for the first time, I trusted a man very completely when he told me that. And I felt safe in his arms even if it was for just one second. _

_ I felt strong enough to come home, but not strong enough to be around people, so I came in through the back door when I got home and tried to avoid Mom. But she caught me and started yelling about me skipping school which I didn’t really understand because she told me she won’t force me to go to school anymore. She told me that I’m grounded and I’m not allowed to have my sleepover on Friday, but I guarantee I’ll have my sleepover anyway because my mother is clueless and won’t be home on Friday and probably won’t remember grounding me in the first place. _

_ In a way, I feel a bit lighter knowing that I don’t have to carry around the secret of spending my summer in treatment in Glee club anymore. It feels good to have it out there amongst my fake brothers and fake sisters. And it feels good to have my fake father know why I’m uncomfortable around one of his fake children. _

_ But I’m still also a little bit angry at Puck for deciding that it was his place to take that burden off of me. _

_ I am both happy and mad about my peers knowing where I was _

_ And I’m still trying to figure out how that’s possible. _


	30. Turn Right

If I could feel my fingers, I would reach them into my pocket and wrap them around my phone. I would pull my phone out of my pocket, then I would open up the weather app just to see if it is actually freezing outside or if the way I feel is making it seem colder than it actually is. I can’t feel my fingers, so I keep them clenched into fists and straight down at my sides. Above me, a street light flickers to life and I walk a little faster.

There’s something about this time of year that I both love and hate.

Something about a quiet walk down a sleepy street when the world around you is pitch dark and it’s only 6 p.m. The clocks haven’t been bounced an hour back yet, but the universe is already preparing itself and you can feel the change coming the way you can feel the snow coming. Your breath is white and dispersing into the air every time you exhale and the leaves crunch underneath your feet because they’re all dead and waiting to waste away. And the cold air cuts you in half like a magic trick gone wrong. It aches in your bones and makes your teeth chatter, but it wakes you up in the oddest sense. There’s something about this time of year that is both beautiful and bizarre.

I adjust the straps of the duffle bag on my shoulders and clench my teeth together tight so they’ll stop chattering. There’s nobody else out here with me and not because it’s too late to be out walking, but because it’s just entirely too cold. And I thought I prepared myself, I really thought I did. I put on the thickest pair of pants I own and shoved my feet into a pair of UGGs. I even wore a long sleeved shirt under my Cheerios sweatshirt and put my trench coat on over everything. But in my haste to get out of the house and get out of the house quickly, I forgot to grab a pair of gloves and my favorite hat. I thought about turning around and going back just to get them, but I was too far gone once I realized I left them and plus, I was sure she’d still be there waiting for me.

As I carefully trample over a pair of railroad tracks, I feel a sense of familiarity wash over me and I am fully prepared because I already knew that I would happen. I am starting to really learn my triggers and I knew that if anything would set me off, it would be walking through the slums of Lima with my yellow duffle bag on my shoulders while I shiver and my nose runs.

_ I’ve only been to Puck’s house one time and that was when we had sex, so I’m pretty sure I’m lost and even if I’m not lost, it’s not like I can see any familiar signs around here because I can’t stop crying long enough to clear my vision. _

_ “Great, Quinn,” I snivel and try my best to read the street signs. I’ve been talking to myself quite a lot since I found out I’m pregnant. I guess maybe it makes me feel a little less crazy because I can always disguise it like I’m talking to the baby and not myself. “Just great. Now you’re lost…” _

_ I know that I’m pregnant now and I’m going to be someone’s mother in a few months and that I should really, really, really try to start growing up, but I can’t help myself. _

_ I sit down right in the middle of the railroad tracks. The gravel hurts my butt but my legs and back are really sore from walking so much and I really have to pee and I’m cold and my nose won’t stop running and I don’t know where I am and this bag is heavy and this baby won’t stop kicking me and I can’t go home and I really messed up with Finn and I’m hungry and I don’t want to BE somebody’s mommy! I want MY mommy… _

_ I’m thankful that nobody’s around to see this and that it’s really dark out here and the sound of an ambulance a few streets over is loud enough to drown me out, because I put my face in my hands and cry my eyes out. _

_ “I… wanna go home…” I mutter into my hands as tears just pour out of me. “I wanna go home… I just wanna go home…” _

_ I want to be in Mommy and Daddy’s waterfall shower and I wanna wash up with my pink loofah. I wanna put on my fuzzy jammie pants and my fuzzy socks and ask Mommy for a cup of hot chocolate. I wanna lay on the couch and watch Halloween with Mommy — the really old one with Jamie Lee Curtis. I wanna lay my head on her lap while she rubs my hair and I wanna to eat popcorn until I’m sick and then go to bed with my old Winnie The Pooh blanket and sleep good for school tomorrow. I just wanna go home. _

_ “D-Dear — G-God,” I try to talk through my tears but these hiccups keep interrupting me and I can’t stop them because I can’t stop crying. “I-I’m s-s-sorry. I’m sorry. I l-l-learned my lesson. I w-won’t ever h-have sex until I’m married. I-I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry for s-si-sinning. But c-can I p-ple-please go home now? Can you make Mommy and Daddy forgive m-me? Please?” I take my hands away from my eyes just so I can look up to the sky. “Please.” I take a couple deep breaths to try and stop crying because I think the baby is worried because it stopped kicking me. I just kinda put my hand on my stomach to let it know that it’s okay, though. “I didn’t even want to have sex with him…” I whisper, because I don’t think that last bit will really matter to God. Whether I wanted it or not, I still did it and I’m still paying the price for it. I’m still an idiot. _

_ I don’t really know what the plan is. I mean, it doesn’t include sitting in the middle of the train tracks and having a meltdown. Even if I kind of wish a train would come and just… end this. _

_ I guess I’m just going to go up to Puck’s door and ring the bell. And just… beg to stay, I guess. I mean, at least I’ll be around someone who loves me and loves the baby too… right? Even if he’s the only one in the world who does, it feels good to know that somebody loves me… loves… us? Puck loves me. I don’t really… I don’t really remember everything about that night but we did have sex and that… that means he loves me. It’s okay that I don’t remember because it happened and it happened with someone who loves me. He just wanted to show me how much he loves me. Right? So it’s okay if I go stay with him, right? Because he loves me and will maybe love the baby too… right? _

_ Right? _

I remember getting up off the train tracks like it was yesterday.

How I coughed because I was crying so hard and when I coughed, it felt like my bladder burst and it spread all down my legs like embarrassment in the form of pee. And I got up and waddled, full of disgust with myself and disappointment that a train hadn’t come for me. And as soon as I started walking, Beth started to kick me again and I clenched my fist. I was fully prepared to punch myself in the stomach — punch _ her _— because it seemed like she was mocking me. But then it all clicked for me, the whole idea that she was all I had left in the world when everyone else and their mother all turned their backs on me. So I just kinda rubbed her instead, you know? And I told her that I loved her for the first time which kind of made me feel all tingly inside and mushy and sappy and that’s a part of me that I won’t get back. I grabbed my duffle bag and started to walk again, trying to remember the direction to Puck’s house. I remembered that he lived on Silverton Avenue so I took a left at the stop sign and hoped for the best.

I was so lost back then, I had no single clue. And in truth, I feel a little lost now, I’ll admit. And yeah, the situation is the same in a lot of ways. I couldn’t go home back then and I can’t go home now. I wasn’t in the best place with my parents back then and I’m not in a great place with my mother after tonight. A large part of me wished the train would come and hit me back then and a small part of me wouldn’t mind that happening again tonight. I was freezing my ass off back then and I’m freezing my ass off again tonight. I had a yellow duffle bag back then and I have that same yellow one now. But unlike back then, I know where I’m going this time. And I don’t make a left at the stop sign.

I make a right.

* * *

What would take a mere five minutes by car took me a little over an hour by foot, but I made it. And maybe it’s because I’m a little nervous to just walk up and knock on the door because I don’t know if they’re home or not, but I take a moment to actually look at the house. And I don’t mean to sound snooty and I don’t mean this the wrong way, but it is _ nothing _like my house.

The red bricks are weathered and wearing away and the white painted shutters are all chipping. The porch is caving in but her dad’s been working to fix it little by little. The welcome mat is still on the front porch and it barely says “welcome” anymore. Two plastic pumpkins adorn the steps, which are chipping just like the shutters. The leash for when they let Whitney and Bobby outside is all ravelled up so I know they were out here just recently. The porch light is on, and it has the same slight flicker to it as it had the first time I ended up here.

Her house is nothing compared to the Fabray house, I will say that honestly. But there is nowhere else in the world that I would rather be than where I am right now. It’s nothing like my house in all the best ways.

I hold my breath and knock hard three times because I know the doorbell doesn’t work. It’s another thing her dad is going to fix when he gets the time. Whitney and Bobby sound like a herd of elephants when they run to the door and Whitney barks but Bobby doesn’t. He puts his paws on the door and though it’s blurry from the way the glass on the door is cut all decoratively, I can see his tail swinging back and forth.

“Shut up!” I hear her mom yelling at them from the other side of the glass and it makes me grin. “Shut up! Before I go get the slipper!” I smile even harder at hearing her say that, because I know the woman and she doesn’t seem like she could hurt a fly.

The locks snicker as she undoes them and the screen door rattles when she pulls the main door open. _ She’s still in her day clothes, so it doesn’t seem like I’ve interrupted anything. _She nudges the dogs back with her feet before looking up and seeing that it’s me. And I don’t know what reaction I was expecting or hoping for when she opened the door and saw that I was me, but I can’t explain how good it makes me feel when her lips turn up into a gentle smile.

“Quinn,” Mrs. Jones says in that real smooth kind of voice. Mercedes told me a long time ago that her mother used to lead the choir at her church and I can totally see that. Her voice is perfectly pitched. Even when she’s speaking. “I was wonderin’ when I was gonna get to see you again. You don’t come around here no more. ‘Least not when we’re home.”

“I was gonna call before I dropped by, but I…” my voice trails, and I crane my neck slightly to the side to see behind her. “Is Mercedes home?”

“Actually no, she went out with that boy after she finished up her nightwork,” she shakes her head. 

And I bite my lip really hard to try and hold them back. But I suck at keeping my composure these days so I’m just stuck hoping that she doesn’t notice them when they roll down my cheeks. They’re silent. And there’s not many of them. But they’re there and underneath the glow of the porch light, I’m willing to bet that she can see them. Mrs. Jones doesn’t miss a single beat.

“Okay,” I mumble and adjust the grip on my duffle. “Will you just tell her I stopped by?”

“Quinn, now wait a minute now,” she steps onto the porch when I turn my back and take a step. I slowly turn back around, tears now rolling freely down my cheeks. “Is everything all right now, sugar?”

She asks that question like she already knows the answer, and her eyes are all over me. She looks at my duffle bag, then my clothes. Then at my hair, which is probably still a mess because I didn’t fix it before I packed my bag and left. Then she looks at my face. All over my face, too. At my throbbing lip that I can still taste the blood on. At my cheek that is sore. At my eye that still feels like I have an eyelash stuck in it. Her palm rests against the part of my cheek that isn’t bruised.

“Come on in and wait on ‘Cedes,” she motions toward the door with her head.

She grabs my duffle and I follow her inside like this is the first and not the second time I’ve used this place as my sanctuary. It’s funny, because when I think of the word safe, this is exactly what I think of.

I think of kicking my shoes off at the door and walking through the hallway of Mercedes’ house, feeling the carpet warm my cold feet. I think of taking a deep breath and smelling something hearty and spicy cooking in the kitchen. I think of the way I feel when I look at the walls and see portraits of people and not flowers, and the way everything in here is nice but used. Nothing has plastic covering it and none of the furniture is specifically reserved for special occasions. People live here. Laughter fills the empty spaces between these walls and if her father wasn’t halfway asleep watching The Simpsons in the living room, I’m sure that some soft jazz music would be playing because there’s always music in this house.

I follow Mrs. Jones to the kitchen, where she motions for me to sit down. I pick the chair closest to the fridge and she stirs something that is simmering in a pot on the stove before getting a washcloth from the drawer by the sink. She sticks it under the faucet for a second, wrings it out, then goes back to the stove.

_ “Sunny days…” _ she half-sings and half-mumbles the lyrics so low that I can hardly hear her but I can tell that her tone is very pretty. _ “...loves them… can you stand the rain…” _She turns the volume on her radio down just a bit as she stops singing and grabs the rag.

_ I wonder what song that was. I kind of liked it. _

“Here you go now, baby,” she slowly holds the rag to the part of my lip that was bleeding a little bit. “You hold that there ‘til that bleeding stop, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am,” I nod my head and watch her as she grabs something with a red lid and shakes it into the pot before stirring again. _ Mercedes is so lucky… _

“‘Cedes told me you two done seen that baby… what was it? Coupla weeks ago at JC Penney’s?”

“Yeah,” I take the rag away just long enough for me to talk. “We actually went to do some shopping and we ran into them. ...Shelby’s her name. The adoptive mother, I mean. Her name is Shelby.”

“Mmm-hmm. And ‘Cedes told me that baby’s gettin’ big. Said she’s cute, too.”

“She is,” I put the rag back to my lip. It hurts to talk about Beth… but maybe the only way it’ll stop hurting is if I do it, so… I don’t know. “She’s got my mother’s eyes. They’re blue. But that real pretty kinda blue, though. And she’s got my hair. It’s blonde but it’s curly. And she’s kinda fat, which… I guess she gets from me, whatever.”

She laughs softly and puts a lid back on the pot. “I ain’t get a chance to talk to you after you had that baby,” she gently pulls the rag off my face and examines it for a second before putting it back. “I’m real proud uh you for what you did.”

“What?” _ What does she possibly have to be proud of me for? If only she knew how much I’ve been screwing up since I left this house… _

“I am. It takes a lot to do what you did. To realize that your baby might deserve a lil bit more than what you can give her. And to go on and give her a better life than what you could have given her at your age when you’s just a baby yourself. That’s a real mama’s sacrifice, what you did there. Real mature thing to do. Proud of you.”

I can’t say anything back to that, so I just nod my head like I’m an idiot or something. But how do you say anything back to someone as nice and warm as Mrs. Jones when everything she just said was completely untrue about me?

_ I am not strong. What I did by giving Beth up was not some sort of ultimate sacrifice. Giving Beth up was selfish. I wanted to give her up because I thought that if I got rid of her that I could have my old life back. I thought that if I didn’t have to see her every day that I would just… be fine and be able to go back to the way things were before Puck and before her. But I was wrong. I was so wrong that everything happened and now I’m here. _

Mrs. Jones takes the bloody rag from me again and puts it back in the sink since it seems like my lip has finally stopped bleeding. She opens up the fridge and hands me a can of ginger ale from the 12-pack on the bottom self.

“It’s Canada Dry, just the one you like,” she puts her hand against my head like she’s checking me for a fever. “You gonna tell me who did this to your face?”

Again, I say nothing but Mrs. Jones is like her daughter in a sense that she doesn’t take my silence the wrong way. Most adults tend to take my silence as a sign of being rude or a brat, but not her. She understands that there are some things I have to work up to talking about and she is fine with that. So I just crack open the can of ginger ale and take a sip.

_ The truth is… if I tell her how I got all these marks on my face, she will probably lose a little bit of respect for me and I don’t think I can handle that right now. In fact, I KNOW that she will lose respect for me. Because I’ve lost a little bit of respect for myself. _

“Mmkay then,” she strokes my hair back for a second then goes back over to the stove. “Your old room we use as storage for when ‘Kel brings all his junk from college, so there’s stuff all over the bed so you can sleep with ‘Cedes for tonight. Imma clean it up real good for you tomorrow though and you’ll be in there tomorrow night so you can start sleeping good for school.”

“Okay,” I mumble and I love how it doesn’t need to be explained that I’m staying here again. It’s just understood.

“Everything is where it used to be, so you go on upstairs and get you a shower. I’ll call ‘Cedes and tell her what’s up.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

“I told my mom not to let Mykel put his shit in that room in case we needed it for times like this,” Mercedes tosses me a pillow to put on my side of the bed as she smooths her quilt back down. I tried to tell her that she didn’t need to change her bedsheets just because I’m sleeping with her tonight, but she insisted so I insisted on at least helping her change them.

“It’s cool, really. I just need some place to close my eyes for the night,” I sigh and sit down on her bed once it’s all made. “...Are you sure you don’t mind this? I mean, I know it’s not really cool for me to just show up like that. I mean, if you —“

“Quinn, it’s like having an eternal sleepover again. I’ve been dying to get you to come back here,” she sighs and sits down with me. “To be honest, I was kinda thinking that you hated it here. You went back home so fast when your mom offered and it’s not like we kicked you out or anything, so —“

“I wanted to go _ home _ , Mercedes,” I’m a little snippy when I say that but I think it’s warranted. She keeps trying to dredge up this conversation and make it into more than what it is when it’s not like that at all. _ I wish she’d just stop it. _“I wanted nothing more than to go home. You —“

“This WAS your home, Quinn. Or at least I thought we made it seem that way. My mom _ loved _having you around, my dad nearly cried while he was helping your mom get your things when you were still in the hospital. You know my dad still talks about how much we had when we used to play Trivia on the Echo? He still tries to beat your high score. And my mom still buys ginger ale when she grocery shops, even though nobody in my house —“

“I said thank you! I’ve said thank you to you and your parents SO many times. What more do you want!? This isn’t my home! I wanted to go home!”

“Wow…” she shakes her head at me. “Wow, Quinn… just wow. So… what? My family and my house is only good enough for you when your psychopath father and your lackadaisical mother decide that they don’t want you every other month?”

“You’re making this into way more than it has to be! I went home with my mom when she offered because I wanted to go home! Not because I hated it here or didn’t want to be here or didn’t love your family! I LOVE your family Mercedes…. I love your house. But this isn’t my home. This isn’t the place where my mom kissed my skinned knee when my dad tried to teach us how to ride bikes. And this isn’t the place where I learned how to tie my shoes. I didn’t make memories here. And your parents aren’t my parents no matter how bad I wish they were. My mom doesn’t sing in the kitchen anymore. My dad doesn’t fall asleep watching reruns of The Simpsons anymore. And when I’m here… I’m just reminded of the way things used to be. And I missed that. I missed my LIFE. I wanted my life back. So I wanted to go home… I wanted to go home…” I sigh because I’m crying again even though I told myself that after I cried in the shower I wouldn’t cry anymore for the rest of the night. “...But home isn’t even home anymore. Home hasn’t been home in a long time. So I don’t know where I belong.”

“You belong right here with us, Quinn,” she puts her hand on my shoulder. “And you don’t have to go home. Ever. You… you can’t live there. Your mom… she’s not changing. She’s still the same. And your dad is too. So you going back there… it’s… it’s pointless unless they change. You can’t heal in the same environment that broke you.”

She says that to me and it’s like she made my world stop spinning. And everything I thought I knew has just been thrown out the window because everything I thought I knew was wrong. She just made my world make that much more sense. Because she cannot be anymore correct.

How am I ever going to get better if Mom is still going to be the same half-caring, half-careless, fully-nonchalant mother that she’s sort of always been? And how am I going to get better if Dad is always going to be… Dad? How am I ever going to feel any better or get any better when nothing about the way things were before have changed?

_ I can’t heal in the same environment that broke me. _

I let that sit with me, but I don’t want it to be too silent, so I sniff. And I wipe my tears. And I say, “I told Mr. Schue.”

“...You what? You told him… what? About… about that? About… _ it _?”

“Yeah,” I shrug. “...I don’t even really know why I did it. I wish I hadn’t. But I just thought… I just thought that maybe if he knew… that he would understand and maybe even… excuse us for skipping… I dunno,” I shrug again. “I wish I didn’t.”

“Well what did he say?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he believe you?”

“Not at first? He like… I don’t know. He got kinda mad at first. Like he dropped his broom and was like, ‘Quinn, that is a very serious accusation. And it’s not some excuse that you just say when you regret something that was totally consensual, so think very long and hard about what you’re saying.’ And I told him again what happened. In more detail. About… about the drinks he gave me and stuff.”

“...So what do you think is going to happen?”

“Mercedes, I don’t know. And I’m scared.”

“Why are you scared?”

“Because! Because maybe he’s gonna tell somebody or something. Isn’t he like… a mandated reporter or something? Because… I dunno,” I look down and pull at a loose thread on my pajama pants. “...What if I’m wrong?”

“Whoa, wait,” she gets up off her bed so she can come and stand in front of me. She kneels down in front of me and grabs onto my wrists like she is pleading with me to make eye contact with her. So I do. I make eye contact. “Stop doubting yourself. You are not wrong.”

“But what if I am? What if I.. what if I did say yes at some point, what if I’m telling all these people that he did this to me and I’m… I’m wrong? What if I’m wrong? And.. and I’ll always feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“...Dirty.” I mumble.

“Quinn…” she gets up off her knees and sits beside me so that she can hug me. “When do you go back to therapy?”

“Tomorrow,” I wriggle out of her hug because I’m so done with being emotional for one night. “I missed my session yesterday when we skipped, so. I have to go tomorrow… and I think we’re gonna discuss what I should speak to the psychiatrist about.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t _ she _the psychiatrist?”

“No, she’s just my therapist,” I explain and it feels kind of weird to talk about Bailey like this. It feels like she’s just been a figment of my imagination for this entire time and talking about her to Mercedes makes her actually human and actually real. It’s a weird feeling. “You get a psychiatrist and a psychologist… a therapist. The therapist just talks to you about stuff. But the psychiatrist gives you medicine. And I have to see her next week. For the first time.”

“Are you scared?”

“Not really.” I shake my head but after a second thought… “Maybe a little.”

“Quinn?”

“What?”

“What happened that night? When you tried to… like… do it? Why did you… do that?”

_ I’ve never talked about this with anyone else except Jessica. It almost feels like foreign territory… _

“...I had my Facebook up. And you know you get those notifications for when people post things? Well I got one from Shelby, and —“

Me and Mercedes both jump out of our skin when two loud knocks on her bedroom door interrupts me. Both our heads turn toward the door and my heart is still beating in my ears so loud that I hardly hear Mercedes tell him to “come in.” Her dad opens the door and pokes his head inside and normally I’m really happy to see Mr. Jones and all because he’s super nice and really really funny, but I kind of hate him right now because I was about to go to a real dark place in my mind and you can’t just drag people out of mindsets like that with a simple knock on the door.

“Hey ladies,” he opens the door completely once he sees that we’re fully clothed and decent. “The Mrs. wanted me to tell you that the chili’s done if you want a bowl.”

“Okay, thanks dad,” Mercedes brushes him off so quickly that I can tell she’s eager to get back to our conversation and I hate to break it to her, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to talk about that tonight. It was more of a one time thing and I sort of just missed that chance.

“And I don’t have my first patient until twelve tomorrow so if you want a ride to school in the morning just let know,” he continues.

“Thanks!” Mercedes says a little more huffy this time but he doesn’t even care about her attitude.

“And Harley-Quinn,” he says and I let out a small laugh. I forgot he calls me that sometimes. I think it’s kind of clever. Nobody’s ever made a harlequin or Harley Quinn pun for me before. “I’m running to the store tomorrow so let me know if there’s anything you want me to pick up special for you.”

“Anything you grab is fine,” I assure him. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure? There’s absolutely nothing you’re gonna need?”

“I’m sure.”

“She’s sure,” Mercedes chimes.

“I’m just saying, we don’t have that white girl shampoo no more so if you need me to grab it, let me know which brand because I —“

I laugh so hard I snort and Mercedes springs up off her bed. “My god!” She starts closing her door. “Goodbye dad!” She closes the door on him and sits back down in the same position she was in before he interrupted us. “So… you were saying? About Facebook?”

“I’m actually kind of hungry,” I stand up from her bed and she gets the point. She gets that I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.

“Okay, me too,” she stuffs her feet into her slippers and heads for the door. “We don’t have to talk about that night, okay? But will you at least tell me who punched you in the face?”

“My mom…” I mumble and open the door. “But I hit her first, so.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because, Mercedes! Why does everything have to be a conversation with you?!”

“No, Quinn,” she stands in front of the door and blocks it. “You don’t get to shut me out anymore. What happened? Why’d you guys fight?”

“...Because of Rachel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take the time to clarify and let everybody know that I, flawlesspeasant and the writer of this story, am 100% Black. Just putting that out there in case anybody is or was offended in my portrayal of Mercedes’ family or feeling like I’m being stereotypical. It’s not my intention, but I am 100% Black myself and the minute details I gave to Mercedes’ parents and household in this chapter are very much based off some of my own experiences. I don’t think I did, but I hope I didn’t offend anyone.
> 
> And also, next chapter will be a little bit of time jump. It’ll be a two day time jump, so instead of it being Thursday, it will be Friday and the night before they leave for nationals. But if you have come to know anything about Quinn in this story, you know that she will still somehow tell you everything you need know that happened in the time jump.
> 
> Anyway, keep on enjoying :)


	31. Take Me To Church

_ So.. when I left school on Wednesday after Glee club, I was in a really good mood because I finally nailed my pieces of choreography for sectionals. I don’t know if I told you, but there’s a section during our second song where I have really complicated partnerwork with Brittany and I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up because when you have to dance next to Brittany, it’s easy to look like you don’t know what you’re doing. I nailed it, though. I just kept track of the count in my head and memorized which beats I was supposed to be doing what on and I did great. Mr. Schue even pulled me aside and told me that he knew he had made the right decision to feature me alongside Brittany for the number, and I reminded him of that with how well I did. _

_ I pulled my car into the driveway and parked it behind Mom’s, but I didn’t get out right away because a couple blocks back, my phone had buzzed with a text from Rachel and I waited until I got home to open it. I probably could have — and in hindsight, should have — waited until I got inside and got settled to text her back, but I was anxious so I turned my car off and grabbed my phone all in the same motion. _

** _New iMessage_ **

** _Wednesday, October 24_ **

** _5:23 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ You did good today! _

_ I felt like all the energy in my body rushed straight to the tips of my fingers. You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach as you’re going down the hill of a really tall rollercoaster? It feels like your stomach is traveling up to your throat and you feel like gravity is leaving you suspended in the middle of nothing. I had that exact feeling when I read her text message. My thumbs flew across the keyboard as I typed out a response, then deleted it so I could think a bit harder. I did that three times before I settled on something to say. _

  
  


** _5:37 p.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ thanks :) i totally thought i was going to mess up. _

** _5:37 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ I knew you wouldn’t. You’re 1 of our best dancers. Makes total sense why Shue would put you front and center for TTC. _

_ She texted back really fast and I could feel my heart beating inside of my chest. I know I’m not supposed to think too much because thinking too much is a product of my anxiety and that’s what I’ve been working on with both Jessica and with you. But I couldn’t help the way my brain made it into something it’s probably not. I just kept thinking that since she texted back so fast, she was probably waiting by her phone for me to reply. And that must have meant she really wanted to talk to me. _

** _5:38 p.m._ **

_ **ME: ** i’m not that good lol. i’m no brittany. i dont dance as well as britt and my timing is not as good but thaaanks. hahahah _

** _5:38 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Stop selling yourself short. You always tell me that I’m hard on myself but so are you. _

_ As I read her reply, three gray dots popped up below her response, so I knew that she was typing some more. I finally decided in that moment that I should get out of my car and stop sitting in my driveway. I thought that maybe by the time I got out of the car and into the house, she would be done typing whatever it was that she was going to say and I’d have a nice juicy text waiting for me after I kicked off my shoes. _

_ But as soon as I put my hand on the door handle to get out of the car, my phone buzzed and I was too anxious again to wait until I got inside to answer it. _

** _5:38 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ At least you look better in your stage dress than Brittany does. :b _

_ A wave of heat washed over me so thoroughly that I had to check my vents to make sure they weren’t open, which made me feel dumb because my car wasn’t even on. I smiled down at the phone and looked over my shoulders to make sure nobody could see me as my thumbs flew across the screen. It felt weird, too. The good kind of weird, I guess. It just felt weird that I didn’t have to think of a response before I typed one out. It just came to me automatically and I knew what I wanted to say. _

** _5:39 p.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ oh? _

** _ME: _ ** _ so you must be attracted to girls w/ love handles & cellulite & scars on their knees then. _

** _5:40 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ No… _

_ The three gray dots popped up again and I watched my phone with nerve-wracking anticipation that faded like pain when the gray dots disappeared. I started to lock my phone and try to go inside again, but another text came in. _

** _5:40 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Blonde hair _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ And green eyes _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Pretty teeth _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Perfect nose _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Ex cheerleader _

** _5:41 p.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ light childhood trauma? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Omg my kinkkkkkk _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Lmao :) :) _

** _ME: _ ** _ LMFAO. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Can’t help what I’m attracted to _

** _ME: _ ** _ i think i know just the girl for you… _

** _5:42 p.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ she comes w/ a lot of baggage though so just be warned _

** _ME: _ ** _ and she has small boobs :/ _

** _5:43 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Okay I just laughed out LOUD. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ My dad probably thinks I’m high or something it was literally out of nowhere. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Wtffffff lmao _

** _ME: _ ** _ hahahahahahahahahahahaha _

** _ME: _ ** _ full disclosure! didn’t want you to get your hopes up! _

_ I started to think that maybe I took it a little far and misread the entire conversation because my attempt at flirting clearly fell flat. I thought that she was flirting with me, you know? She basically described me and said that my features are what she’s attracted to and she told me that I looked good in my performance dress today. I mean, I guess maybe if you look at it from a different angle, she could have been saying all of that just to be nice but I ruined it all by adding some random comment about my chest size and I was so sure I screwed it all up, so I finally got out of the car. _

_ I took my shoes off at the door as usual because Mom was actually home and she would freak if I walked all over her freshly vacuumed carpets with my outside shoes. I hung my jacket up on the rack behind the door and went straight into the kitchen, where Mom was pulling the lasagna out of the oven. _

_ “Hi Quinnie, how was school?” She asked me as she licked some sauce off her finger. “Dinner’s done just in time for you.” _

_ Like I said, I was in a really good mood so I put my phone on the countertop facedown and took a giant whiff of the lasagna. My stomach growled and I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything all day, so I smiled at my her and said, “Smells great, Mom. I’ll be right back down.” _

_ That’s where I messed up. If I had never left my phone on the counter while I ran upstairs to do my business, none of Wednesday’s events would have ever happened. _

_ It’s not like I took forever or anything. I ran up the steps two at a time and went straight into the bathroom; I didn’t even bother to close the door. I just pulled my dress up and my tights and underwear down and went straight into peeing. And I washed my hands with soap and water of course, but I washed them fast. Then I was in my room for no more than two minutes, throwing my dress and my tights into the dirty laundry basket and putting on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I was back downstairs in four minutes, five at most. _

_ But it was already too late. _

_ Mom acted super casual about it at first and I didn’t suspect a thing. I mean, I kind of did a little bit when I went back into the kitchen to cut myself a piece of the lasagna and saw that my phone was rightside up instead of facedown like I left it, but I thought that maybe she had just moved it so she could grab the plates or something. I cut myself a real big healthy piece of lasagna and put it onto a square glass plate. Mom was already in the dining room, so I took the seat across from her and grabbed a fork from the fancy silverware pile that we use for guests. _

_ “How was school?” She asked me, blowing on a forkful before shoveling it into her mouth. _

__ “It was good,” I said through my own mouthful and I was trying to be discreet with the way I was looking at my phone underneath the table. Four new text messages were flashing on my lock screen and they were all from her. I wasn’t trying to be discreet because I suspected anything, because I still didn’t at that point. I just knew how much my mother hated having phones at the table.  
  


** _iMessage_ **

** _5:46 p.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ I’m satisfied with every part of you. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ I don’t care what’s small and what’s big. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ And plus… they’re not small. They’re perfect ;) _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ ...Jk :b _

_ “Nothing new to report?” Mom’s voice was a little weird at this point, but I still just thought that maybe she was about to ask me something about my dad. I didn’t think anything was going to happen. Especially anything like what did. “Are you guys ready for the choir competition?” _

_ “Nope,” I mumbled as I tried to text back without looking. _

** _5:59 p.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ you would know… but maybe you’ll find out for sure eventu _

_ I was halfway through deleting the reply for being too cringy when I realized that I misspoke and it seemed like Mom was all over me. Her eyes were narrow little slits as she glared at me from across the table, so I sighed and locked my phone up. I was just going to text Rachel back after dinner, and it gave me a little bit more time to think of a response that was equally flirtatious and not cringeworthy. _

_ “I meant ‘nope’ as in no, there’s nothing to report. But we’re really ready for competition. We’re just rerunning things to make sure everyone knows what they’re doing and the timing is right and everything.” I corrected what I just said, but Mom’s daggers weren’t easing up. I started to feel like maybe I did do something wrong after all. “How was your day?” I asked, just to try and clear the air. _

_ “Fine, fine,” she put her fork down and wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Your father and I had a lovely time. He had to meet some new partners at the country club and he thought it would look better if he had his wife present, you know. It was a lovely afternoon.” _

_ “That’s good,” I said and scooped up another forkful of lasagna. _

_ “So I was thinking,” she started and I automatically thought I knew where it was going. I thought this was going to officially be the moment she asked me if I would mind Dad moving back in. I really thought that it was that time. I held my breath in preparation. “After your trip to Hershey — because you’ll be gone this Sunday — but maybe Sunday, I was thinking you and me could start going to church again.” _

_ “Okay,” I exhaled and felt my stomach ease back up. I took the guard down and called off the rabid dogs I sent to protect myself. It was a false alarm. Dad wasn’t moving back in yet. “That’s fine, I’ll —“ _

_ “I love you, Quinn,” she nearly whispered and I felt like the corners of the rooms were tipping up at me. It was the moment before something happened, something that changed the entire context of the conversation and the entire mood. I didn’t know what that something was, but I knew it was coming. I felt that. “I love you so, so, so very much and I just want you to know that God is guiding you and —“ _

_ “Mom, what’s wrong?” I stopped eating mid-chew and didn’t swallow. It suddenly felt like I forgot how to. I studied her expression to see if maybe I could catch a little hint about what her issue might have been, but she was cold. Stoic. Icy. And stone. “Mom…? Mom, what —“ _

_ “Who’s Rachel?” _

_ The corners of the room tipped up some more and almost made me fall. I felt like it was Alice In Wonderland and I was Alice and I had just taken the potion that made me grow. Suddenly, the room was too small and I was much too big and it didn’t matter where I went because I would never be able to hide. This would find me no matter where I was. Shame would find me anywhere. _

_ It was all so clear to me so quickly, too. It all clicked at a moment’s notice. My phone wasn’t the way I left it and her voice was judgey and weird. She wanted me to go to church some more and she looked at me like she hated me. I knew what it was about and I knew that my best bet was to lie and lie good. _

_ “W-What?” I asked, finally swallowing the food in my mouth. _

_ “Who is Rachel? Is she the same one you skipped school and spent all day with? Is that the same girl?” Her tone was harsh and accusing and I wanted to crumble underneath it. Like how an ice cube melts as soon as you put it in the middle of warm liquid. _

_ “Okay first of all,” I sipped my water to clear my throat. “That was a group thing. It was four of us who skipped, not just me and Rachel. And she’s my friend. One of my best friends, actually. And I would appreciate it if you—“ _

_ “‘I can’t help what I’m attracted to’...? ‘I’m satisfied with every part of you’...? That doesn’t sound very friendly to me, young lady.” Her voice raised an entire pitch and I felt... caught. Red handed. Only… I’m not sure if what I was doing was wrong because it felt good and I was so confused again. _

_ “You went through my phone…” I mumbled. _

_ “As a matter of fact, I did,” she sat back in her chair and looked at me as if she was better than me or something and I don’t know how else to explain how I felt except that I felt really low. “And I cannot believe what I read. ‘I know just the girl for you.’ Quinn… I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around —“ _

_ “You had NO right! No right at all! That’s my PHONE, Mom! That’s my —“ _

_ “I’m paying the bill for it, so let’s not discuss that. And I’m not paying the bill so you can share these… DISGUSTING —“ _

_ “That’s not fair!” I was so angry and for a lot of reasons. Obviously I was angry that she thought it was appropriate to go through my cell phone and read my text messages, but I was mostly angry at myself for not taking it upstairs with me. I didn’t want her to find out that way. I’m not sure how or when I would have told her about my feelings for Rachel but I didn’t want it to be like that and yet there it was. All out in the open for her to see and to judge. “That’s my phone, Mom! I deserve more privacy!” _

_ “You lost the right to privacy when you tried to kill yourself, Quinn!” She screamed and I could sense how different this fight was because I didn’t have any fight in me this time. I usually had something quick to say back and I usually won the arguments, but I had nothing. I was clueless. “I forbid it.” _

_ “You what?” I sat in my chair with my arms folded across my chest, trying not to cry. _

_ “You are not to speak with her any longer, and I hope I’m making myself VERY clear. You know better than this, I taught you better than this and you were raised better than this. I’m not sure what phase you’re going through or what attention you’re trying to get by acting out this way, but I’m not having this. Not in my house. You will not speak to her any longer, you will start going to church again and you will delete every single piece of these messages or so help me, I will —“ _

_ “So you forbid what, Mom? You forbid what? Me being… gay?” The tears roll quietly down my cheeks and she shifts when I say the actual word. “Why? Because the Bible says not to be? Because the Bible says I’m going to hell? I can’t talk to Rachel anymore? Because God will hate me if I —“ _

_ “This is not about the Bible, Quinn, and this is not about God. You know that it’s not. This is about you and your incessant need to punish me. You and I both know that. You’ve had boyfriend after boyfriend since ninth grade, you had sex with a boy and got pregnant, you —“ _

_ “I was raped by a boy, Mom. There’s a difference.” I knew I had no fight left in me because I wasn’t being smart or sarcastic with my tone. My voice was just all cracked and broken from the tears but it had no emotion. I felt like a zombie. _

_ “Whatever you want to call it, that’s beside my point. My point is I know you, you are my daughter. And this is not who you are. This is a phase that you are going through just to make me angry and rebel against me and everything you’ve been taught and I’m just not putting up with it, Quinn. I’m not. You’re not about to come into my house claiming that you are something you’re not after seventeen years. You —“ _

_ “No but see, Mom,” I wiped my tears. “There’s this thing. I’ve looked it up and it makes so much sense. It’s called ‘heteronormativity’ and it’s when you’re so conditioned to believe that a man and woman are supposed to be together that you —“ _

_ “Rachel…” she whispered to herself, completely ignoring anything that I was saying. “Rachel… Rachel Berry? That Rachel? Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph, that explains everything.” _

_ “Are you listening to me? I looked it up, I did. And it makes sense. I’ve been trying to make sense of it myself, Mommy. Because I just don’t understand how I could be one thing all my life and then another thing all of a sudden, but it makes sense. It says that I’m was just too ashamed to admit to myself because of this heteronormativity and —“ _

_ “This is all her fault,” she shook her head. _

_ “You can’t blame Rachel… she had nothing to do with it.” _

_ “Oh you’re damn right I’m blaming that girl for this. She’s bringing this all on you. I should’ve known. With her and homosexual fathers. I told your father I wanted you private schooled. I didn’t want you exposed to that lifestyle. But you insisted. You begged.” _

_ It was like a switch went off when I heard her blaming Rachel. I wasn’t angry at first but it’s like some invisible hand reached up inside of me and turned the switch and I was instantly angry. The dangerous kind of angry, too. The kind of angry that consumes you and makes you do and say really irrational things. The kind of anger you look back on and are afraid of. _

_ “It wouldn’t change a thing!” I slammed my fist down on the table and that’s when she really looked at me. “You could’ve sent me to every private school in the nation and it wouldn’t change the way I feel. I’m not… I’m not normal, Mom. And I’m sorry. I tried to be. I tried for so long to be normal like Frannie and I tried to like it. Even when he was… r-raping me I tried to like it just so I could be normal for you and Daddy but I’m not. I’m just not. And no amount of praying or forbidding me or yelling at me is going to change it. You just… need to get used to it.” _

_ “I’m not having it in my house, Quinn. So you better fix it. You better fix it or —“ _

_ “Then I’ll leave,” I shrugged my shoulders and she got up. _

_ She pushed her plate of lasagna away from her so hard that she knocked down the glass candlestick holders in the middle of the table and made them shatter, and that was another way I could feel how this time was different. I had never made my mother that angry before and for some reason, I kind of liked it. I liked how I could see that she was capable of it. For so long, I watched her sit back and take everything on the chin. My dad would hit her and she never hit back. She never got angry. She never said anything. I started to think that my mother couldn’t get angry. But there she stood in front of me, angry enough to break things. Maybe that’s why I followed her into the kitchen and kept it going a little further. _

_ “It’s funny how you listen to the Bible now that it says I’m a sinner for being gay, but you don’t listen to it about anything else,” I stomped into the kitchen after her. “You know what else the Bible says? We should love our neighbors. So tell me why every winter Dad goes out and dumps all our shoveled snow into the Batemans’ yard. Bible also says to always tell the truth so let’s do that, Judy. Let’s tell the truth.” _

_ “Stop it, Quinn,” she mumbled and started to clean the countertops like she always does when she’s stressed or under pressure. _

_ “Do you love me more than Dad?!” I stood in front of her and demanded and I know now that it was a pretty asshole-ish thing for me to do, but I couldn’t help myself. “You have to tell the truth, Mom. Bible says so. So tell me. Do you love me and Frannie more than you love Dad?” _

_ “I said stop it, Lucy!” _

_ “Do you believe me? I told you I was raped and you seemed really supportive but just a second ago you contradicted yourself so I just gotta know. Do you believe that Noah Puckerman raped me?” _

_ She kept her head down and scrubbed at the parts of the counter that were already clean, and I was just getting started. _

_ “You know, the Bible also says that you shouldn’t cheat on your spouse but WHOOPS, Dad royally fucked that one up, didn’t he? But no, let’s just shake our heads and point our fingers at Quinn, shaming the good Christian family name by daring to kiss a girl. And I’m pretty sure Jesus frowns upon abortions, so you and Dad should probably repent about the one you paid for after he knocked up his mistress.” _

_ I didn’t even see her swing when she did, I just felt it when it happened and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t see it coming. Her hand collided with my cheek so fast and with so much force that I instantly tasted the blood in my mouth. I stumbled backwards because she hit me with so much force and my hand instantly went up to the spot where her ring cut my lip. She looked at me with tears lining the rims of her eyes and her whole body trembled like the anger was bubbling and begging to come out. I held my face, hand covered in the blood from my mouth, and I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry so fully that I’m not sure why I didn’t. _

_ “Go to your room,” she said with the deep throaty part of her voice. It was like she was trying to exercise her authority over me for the first time but it didn’t feel scary. It felt awkward and misplaced. _

_ I still wanted to cry because my cheek and my mouth were both throbbing, but I didn’t. Instead, I took one step toward her, put my hands down at my sides, and looked her into both her eyes when I said, “No.” _

_ “You’re grounded. You can kiss the trip to Hershey goodbye. And give me your phone.” _

_ “No.” _

_ What she did next was what really sealed the deal for our relationship. She reached for my phone, which I slipped inside the pocket of the sweatpants I had on, and I pushed her away from me and said “Get away from me.” _

_ I pushed her hard, too. I put my hands on her shoulders and shoved her so hard that she went staggering backwards and hit the countertop. And she looked let me like I was the devil reincarnated in the flesh. Her eyes were wide and alert and her mouth was in a permanent scowl. I saw a flicker of something inhuman in her eyes, something I’ve never seen before. It was like I could see the decision calculating in her mind before she actually did it and when it all came together, she took three steps toward me and went after my phone again. _

_ I pushed her again, but she didn’t budge that time. That time, she grabbed both of my hands and pushed me backwards, which made me fall to the ground because I couldn’t steady myself with my arms. And I don’t know what came over me, but it felt like it was one of my friends on top of me and not my mother. I grabbed her hair as I fell and took her down with me and I felt her trying her hardest to grab my arms and restrain me, but I kept trying to get out of her grasp and her hands kept landing elsewhere. I curled my leg up into my chest and tried to kick her off of me, but she held my hands up over my head and when she did that, something else inside of me went off. It was almost like the switch that made me angry, but way worse. _

_ Because I stopped seeing my mother when she held my arms up like that. And I stopped feeling my mother’s petite 5’6, 118 pound frame against my body. _

_ I saw him hovering over me with my arms over my head again. And I felt his 6’2, 180 pound body crushing me. And my hands were over my head and he had a tight grip and I couldn’t move again. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t scream. All I could do was lay there as he tore away pieces of me and started taking from me like a thief in the night. _

_ “GET OFF OF ME!” I screamed at her so loud that my voice felt unfamiliar when it came out. It felt like it didn’t belong to me. “GET OFF OF ME, NOW! GET OFF! GET OFF, I’M SERIOUS! GET THE HELL OFF OF ME! GET OFF! STOP IT, GET OFF! STOP IT, STOP IT! STOP IT!” _

_ I tore out of her grasp and started swatting to get from underneath of her. I swatted and kicked and punched and slapped and a few of my hits connected. I knew a few of them connected because she tried to grab my hands again and kept missing and her hands kept hitting my face. She finally got the picture, I guess. Because she climbed off of me and crawled over to the stove where she could just watch me from a distance. Even though she was off of me, I still screamed and cried. And she cried as she watched me, too. _

_ And she was still crying when I calmed down. After five minutes of catching my breath, I sat up and just looked at her and she was on the floor crying just as hard as I was when she was holding me down. She just cried and cried and cried and didn’t even try to stop me when I packed my yellow duffle bag and left. _

_ Right out the front door. _

“So… why did you tell Mercedes that you hit your mother first if that wasn’t the case?” Bailey finally asks after letting me tell the entire story without interrupting once. I can’t tell what she thinks of me hitting my mother and being so defiant. It’s not my finest hour, I’ll admit. And I’m not proud of the way I acted. But I wish I could get an idea of how Bailey at least thinks of it.

“I didn’t want her to get in trouble,” I sigh. “I thought that if I told her the real story and that my mother slapped the crap out of me, she’d tell her parents and her parents would tell people and then my mom would get into trouble. I didn’t want her to. Not after I hit her back.” I drum my fingers along the desk and look up at the clock. We don’t have much longer left. “...Do you think I’m horrible?”

“I think things got out of control for sure,” she nods her head. “I think you had a very visceral reaction because your mother’s reaction to you identifying as lesbian was extremely inappropriate and not what you needed. I think you were both very emotional. And you were triggered by her restraining you. And that activated a very… violent, fight-or-flight response from you. And I think that while staying with Mercedes and her family is not a permanent solution, it is a very good idea. Some people work better when they’re not together and I think you and your mother have to navigate that somehow.”

“So… no? You don’t think I’m horrible?”

“I think you’re a very sweet girl, Quinn. And I shouldn’t say this because it’s unprofessional, but I care about you a whole lot, maybe a bit more than some of my other patients, and I want to see you get better. I think you’re very broken and every adult in your life has failed you. But I think you’re fixable. I think you’re fixable and I’ve come to love you.”

I sit back and let that sink in.  _ Bailey loves me… and I believe her, actually. I don’t think she’s lying or making it up or trying to be nice. She actually cares about me. _

“What happens when I’m done? With therapy, I mean. What happens when I’m done? Do I just… stop seeing you one day? And that’s it?” I ask her.

“It’s a little more complicated than that. When I feel that you’re ready to be discharged, I’ll start cutting our sessions down less and less. Kinda like weaning you off. I’ll give you the big “seal of approval” and yeah. I’ll send you on your way. Out there into the world. With all the tools I’m teaching you.”

“And then what? I never see you again?”

“We’re a long way from that, okay? Don’t worry about that. But… after six months of being discharged, it’s legal for us to be Facebook friends… so. Add me,” she grins and winks at me. I laugh softly to myself and she looks up at the clock. “Looks like we’re outta time. And I can’t keep you because you have to sing at the assembly, right? That’s today, isn’t it? It’s Friday?”

“Yeah,” I nod and gather up my stuff. “We’re singing ‘Hear You Me’. You know? By Jimmy Eat World?”

“I’m familiar.”

“We’re singing that, so. Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” she gathers her own stuff up too. “Oh, and just so we’re clear, I won’t see you until next Saturday… got it?”

“Yeah, I got it. Next Saturday.”

“Because you’re gone for Hershey this weekend, then Tuesday you see the psychiatrist instead of me.”

“Right.”

“So we’ll discuss all this next Saturday and hopefully next week we’ll get back on our schedule. I know this week was a little bit crazy with you missing school on Tuesday and me being out sick yesterday. Hopefully this is the last friday session we’ll need. Hopefully we’ll get back to Tuesdays and Saturdays.”

“Yep, Tuesdays and Saturdays.”

“And I’ll get in contact with your mom to see about setting up a family session with you and her, capiche?”

“Capiche.”

“Alright kiddo, get outta here,” she waves me off. “Good luck at the competition this weekend.”

“Thank you,” I drape my cardigan over my shoulders and adjust the grip on my notebook. And before leaving, I feel like I should say this to her… “And Bailey?”

“Yep?” She looks up from putting things neatly back into her briefcase.

“...I’ve grown to love you, too.”

* * *

“I’m telling you, even Coach Sylvester was going to cry,” I say as the two of us glance down the street to make sure nothing is coming when we cross. “When Beiste strung up his jersey as Blaine was singing that really high part? I saw her. She had tears in her eyes.”

“And I’m telling you that you’re full of it,” Mercedes nudges me.

The two of us are silent for a few moments and the only sound is the steps that are feet take as we trample down the sidewalk and crunch the dead leaves. I’m trying not to sound bratty or like a spoiled rich girl, but I really my car. I haven’t had to walk home from the bus stop in literally… well… never, actually. It’s not that bad because Mercedes doesn’t live that far away from the bus stop, but I’m freezing and I’m not used to dressing like I have to ride the bus and walk to and from the stops. I’m used to getting into a warm car that I started with the remote all the way from my bedroom.

“Where do you think we go?” Mercedes is the first to break the silence.

“What do you mean?” I step up onto the sidewalk and look down as I walk.

“When we die. Where do you think we go?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I guess… I guess I think that we go everywhere. I mean I was raised to believe in heaven and hell but… but I don’t know what I believe in anymore, really. I don’t think heaven and hell exist. I think when we die, we go… everywhere. Pieces of us go everywhere. Like confetti.”

“You think he heard us today? You think that wherever Karofsky ended up — heaven, hell, everywhere — you think he heard us? And knew that we were singing for him?”

“I hope so… I hope that he knows we all cared even if he didn’t feel like we did while he was here.”

“I care about you, Quinn,” she says really low and really softly. “I know it’s supposed to be all about Karofsky because he’s the one that’s dead but I think about how it could have been you, and… and I just don’t know if I would have recovered from that. And I’m really sorry if you didn’t feel like you could talk to me back then. I’m really sorry if you felt like nobody was listening. But I’m really glad you didn’t succeed.”

_ Talk to her. She’s dying for you to open up to her. She needs to know that you’re okay now. That you’re not going to do it again… _

“You know, sometimes I do wish that it would’ve worked. I wish that my mom didn’t stick her fingers down my throat and make me throw up…” I feel her energy shift as soon as I say that. It’s like she wants to ask me for more details about my mom making me throw up, but she won’t. “Sometimes I do wish that it would’ve just ended it. But I’ve been staying with you guys since Wednesday and… and it’s only Friday and not much time at all, but it’s something… ever since I started staying with you guys, I don’t wish that anymore. There hasn’t been one single day where I wished that. And I’d be lying if I said you weren’t part of that.”

Instead of saying anything back and risking ruining the moment, she just wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me a little closer to her. And we walk like that for the rest of the way. The only time she lets me go is when we round the corner to get to her house and we see her dad outside on a ladder, dragging a paintbrush across the shutters.

“Hey ladies,” he calls over his shoulder. “Great day for painting, huh?”

“If by great you mean 30 degrees and perfect weather for freezing your butt off, then yeah. It’s perfect,” Mercedes mumbles. “Dad, the shutters can wait until spring. Nobody cares about the way the house looks.”

“You hush on up. If I want to paint my house and freeze while I’m doing it, I’m gonna paint my house and freeze while I’m doing it. Ain’t that right, Quinn-tessential?”

I let out a slight laugh at the name-pun. He’s great at coming up with new ones. “You do whatever you want, Mr. Jones. Your house, your rules.”

“See, ‘Cedes? Take notes from Harley Quinn.”

“Sure dad, whatever you say,” Mercedes walks up the porch steps and I follow her.

Mr. Jones stops painting for a second just to look at us. “Your mama went to the store and picked up a few groceries. She’s making some gumbo for dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good,” I remark and follow Mercedes inside.

Both of us take our shoes off by the door and put our backpacks where they always are, on the recliner chair in the living room. We’re leaving super early tomorrow morning. Mr. Schue said that we have to be at the school by no later than 4:30 in the morning so we can be on the bus and ready to pull out at 5:00 on the dot. Me and Mercedes plan to be in bed and asleep by 9:30, but we want to practice before we go to sleep, and we don’t want to miss a single minute. I still think Mr. Schue is insane for not having practice today. I mean I get it. He wanted us to go home and relax after Karofsky’s assembly, because it was a super heavy thing to perform at, and he didn’t want to keep us until late tonight because we have to go to bed early, but still. It’s the day before sectionals and he didn’t hold a practice. If we lose, I say we blame him.

Anyway, Mercedes and I start heading for the steps so we can hole up in her bedroom and start rehearsing, but her mom cranes her neck to see into the hallway. “Mercedes? Quinn? Come in this here kitchen for a minute,” she calls us. “Come empty these bags from the store and put this food away, you two.”

Mercedes and I both start emptying the bags as quickly as we possibly can so we can start rehearsing already. Mercedes opens the fridge and I hand her a can of Pillsbury biscuits, blueberry bagels, a tub of Blue Bonnet butter, package of bacon, sausage links and a bag of grapes to put away.

“I want you two going to sleep at a decent time tonight, you hear?” she talks to us with her back turned because she’s too busy peeling the tails off a bag of frozen shrimp. “Got an early morning ahead of you and ain’t no good singin’ gonna come outta you if you’re tired.”

“Okay muh,” Mercedes mumbles and moves on to the pantry. “Muh, can I have my friends over tonight? Just Rachel and Tina. We need to practice.”

“I don’t care, ‘Cedes. But they gotta be gone by eight at the latest. I want you girls to sleep tonight. I mean that.”

“Okay,” Mercedes says.

“Yes ma’am,” I say as I hand her two bags of Doritos, a box of mini chocolate chip muffins, two cans of corn, a can of green beans, a bag of sugar, a bag of four, a container of Kool-Aid mix, a bag of egg noodles and three boxes of Minute rice.

“And I want you two to eat real good tonight, too. I want you going to bed with full bellies. You ain’t gonna have nothing homecooked out there in Pennsylvania for a couple days, I wanna send my girls off right. Quinn, you like Gumbo, don’t you?” she asks, now cutting pieces of smoked sausage into tiny circles.

“I like anything you make,” I shrug and start handing Mercedes things for the freezer next. Two packages of chicken, two packages of steak, two packages of porkchops, one package of ground meat, a box of Eggos, a box of frozen pancakes and a box of frozen macaroni and cheese. The kind from Stouffer’s. She asked me yesterday what my mother usually buys for me to eat and I mentioned Stouffer’s macaroni. She bought that just for me. I know she did. Because Mercedes’ family doesn’t eat many things that are frozen. They make their stuff homemade. I want to cry because she actually thought of me today in the store.

“Anything else?” Mercedes gathers up all the plastic bags and stuffs them inside the one giant plastic bag hanging on the hook just inside the basement door. “We really need to go rehearse.”

“Yeah, one more thing,” Mrs. Jones uses her teeth to open a bag of green peppers. “Quinn, look inside that bag sitting there on the table and grab that phone inside of it.”

I rummage through the white and red Verizon bag and pull out the shiny new purple iPhone. Starting next month, Mom is going to start asking me what I want for Christmas and I was already going to ask for a new phone because I saw that they came out with a purple one and I wanted it. Seeing it in the flesh just made me even more sure that it’s what I want for Christmas.  _ If Mom even gets me anything for Christmas… She’ll probably still hate me by then… _

“Here you go,” I put it on the counter next to Mrs. Jones because she’s busy chopping up onions and peppers now.

“Don’t hand that to me, sugar. You keep that. That’s yours.”

_ What?! No. Absolutely not. Ab. So. Lutely. Not. _

“Oh no, Mrs. Jones, that’s okay. Really, it’s okay. It’s fine. I have a phone. Thank you so much for the gesture, but it’s seriously okay. I don’t need it. I have one.” I shake my head and keep trying to hand it to her. “You can get your money back.”

“Ain’t your mama turn your phone off? Ain’t you running around only able to use it when you’re connected to internet? Cause your mama cut you off the bill?” Scrapes the cutting board full of peppers, celery and onions into a pot.

“Yeah, but it’s fine. I’m perfectly fine. Everyone I text has iPhones anyway so we use iMessage and it works around WiFi. It’s fine, I swear.”

“Well long as you’re living in this house I’mma need a way to get in touch with you. And you’s getting ready to go to Pennsylvania for the weekend. You ain’t living in my house going to Pennsylvania with no phone. No ma’am. Take that phone. Charger and the box is still in that bag. I put my number in there already.”

“Are you… are you sure? That’s a big undertaking and I really —“

“You’re keeping that phone, girl. Now I don’t wanna hear no more about it. I gotta have a way to get in touch with you. I wouldn’t let ‘Cedes go to another state with no phone and I ain’t gonna let you,” she adds the shrimp and sausage to the pot next. “‘Cedes told me you’d want the purple one.”

I turn around fast and look at Mercedes. “You knew she was going to get me one?! And you didn’t stop her?!”

“It was like twenty bucks to add you to the family plan, it was no big deal,” Mercedes shrugs and opens up a package of fruit snacks.

“There’s some other things we need to talk about,” Mrs. Jones is still talking with her back towards us. She’s too busy fixing the food but she is also so completely into the conversation. I wish I could multitask like that. “Last time you was staying here it was no big deal ‘cause you wasn’t trying to do nothing with that baby up in you. But it’s different now so we gotta lay down some rules.”

“Okay,” I sit down in a chair and open up my brand new phone.  _ It's so pretty and purple... _

“Curfew on school nights is at nine. Maybe nine thirty if you’re at a movie or something and it runs a little late, but no later than that. On weekends it’s midnight. If I lock these doors at midnight and you ain’t in this house then that’s just too bad. You locked out.”

“Okay, midnight. Got it.”

“When you are outside of this house, that phone stays on. At all times. No exceptions. If you’re out and it dies and I’m tryna call you and can’t get ahold of you then you grounded because you had every opportunity to text or call me before it dies. You ain’t about to have me up in this house worrying about you for no reason just ‘cause your phone dead. Alright?”

“Okay, phone battery gets low, text you to let you know it might die. Got it.”

“Nightwork gets done as soon as you step foot in this house and you don’t do nothing else until your nightwork gets done. I ain’t real big on chores but if you see something needs done, just do it. Don’t make me fuss and holler at you for not washing a sink full of dishes and don’t make me fuss and holler at you for not cleaning the tub if you see it’s dirty. I do laundry every Sunday so make sure your stuff is in a basket and left outside the door. I’ll wash it up for you but you gotta put it away.”

“Okay, sounds easy enough,” I nod and listen to her intently.

“And Quinn?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Be a kid while you’re here. Okay? You still just a baby yourself, that don’t change just because you had a baby. Be a kid.”

* * *

I felt it all come back to me as soon as she put it back and I’ve been trying to swallow it and act like it’s not there anymore, but it clearly is and I can’t ignore it anymore.

I felt it come back as soon as she asked me who Rachel was, and I didn’t want to tell her. It dawned on me in that moment that I was so hesitant to tell her who Rachel was because I still knew that our relationship was wrong. She asked me, flat out. We sat across from each other with lasagna on our plates and she asked me who Rachel was and I didn’t want to tell her and ever since then, it’s been back.

Shame is heavy and gray and I wear it on me like an ugly old sweater that I just can’t bear to part with. Even as it wears me down.

“I just feel like I’m going to forget right in the middle of everybody and I’m going to freeze like a deer in headlights and everyone is going to laugh and boo us off the stage and we’ll lose and never be invited back to Hershey and it’s all because Quinn Fabray couldn’t keep up with Brittany Pierce and I totally screwed over everybody and what we worked hard for,” I ramble as I look up at the ceiling.

“Would you stop it?!” Mercedes swats me with a pillow, so I sit up and sigh. “You are fine. Mr. Schue wouldn’t have put you in that dance if he didn’t think you could do it.”

“And you’ve been nailing it in rehearsals,” Rachel says. As soon as I sit up, she lays her head on my lap and watches as Tina scrolls through Instagram. There’s three of us on the bed while Mercedes sits in her chair and starts painting her fingernails. There’s a lot of room on this bed… but she is choosing to lay on me… “You killed it yesterday.”

“Yeah, but I’m just scared because if I mess up on one count, then the whole thing is off because there’s no words to get me back on track. Like usually if I’m early on something I can figure out which word I’m supposed to match up with so I can slow down or speed up if I need to, but there’s no lyrics in Trashin’ The Camp.”

“There’s lyrics! If there weren’t lyrics, then what would we sing?” Mercedes comments.

“Not actual ones! How am I supposed to figure out which gibberish word I’m supposed to kick on if it’s all gibberish words repeating?”

“She’s got a point,” Tina looks up from her phone for one second just to agree with me and I appreciate that. “I’m so nervous that I’m gonna actually throw up on the stage because nobody is going to do what we’re doing.”

“Now I can relate to that,” Mercedes nods. “Everybody is going to go super mainstream and then there’s us.”

“A bunch of teenagers singing Disney mashups,” I mumble. “Creepy.”

“Will you guys stop it?” Rachel takes her head off my lap and looks at the three of us. “Why are you being like this? Tomorrow is going to be awesome because we are going to kill it and everybody is going to literally wish they were us.” We all just kinda stare at her… I hate it when she’s trying to be all sweet and encouraging because it makes me love her even more and I hate that.  _ She’s so cute.  _ “It doesn’t matter if everyone else is going to sing something super mainstream. And Quinn, it doesn’t matter if you mess up. Because my solos are going to epic and —“

“I so want to punch you in the face right now,” I mumble and look away from her and it’s true. I do want to punch her but not because I’m annoyed. It’s more because she’s so freaking cute when she does this and gets all self-absorbed.

“I will never underestimate your ability to somehow turn everything back around on you,” Mercedes says.

“How do you not get nervous?” Tina asks. “I mean that seriously. How do you not get nervous about performing in front of hundreds of people?”

“Well, I’m a star. And stars don’t get stage fright,” she shrugs and puts her head back down on my lap.

It’s like my hands have a mind of their own because I’m not thinking about it when my fingers start to run through the lengths of her silky hair. Her hair is so straight and so smooth that my fingers just glide through it like I’m running them through fresh blades of grass. My fingernails graze her scalp then travel all the way down to the ends of her hair. I keep going and going and her eyes eventually flutter shut.

Mrs. Jones agreed to let them spend the night, by the way. She agreed to let Rachel and Tina sleep in the spare room that is now my room, and I’ll sleep with Mercedes. She’ll drop us off at the school tomorrow morning but we have to go to bed early. I won’t lie, when she agreed to let them stay the night, I was super happy because I felt like I cheated the group out of a sleepover by fighting with my mom. But it’s coming true anyway so now I don’t feel as bad anymore.

For a second, I start to think that she fell asleep, because her eyes are closed and she’s not moving a muscle. But just as I start to think that, she curls her fingers against my kneecap and starts stroking and caressing my leg. She runs her fingernails across my legs quickly at first, but then she slows down… and eventually, she is matching the same pace I’m stroking her hair at. Her eyes are still closed, but I’m just staring at her like it’s my favorite thing to do because it kind of us. Her eyebrows are perfect… her skin is smooth… god she is just so… beautiful...

Then I’m suddenly aware again that we’re not the only two in the room, because from the corner of my eye, I see Tina and Mercedes exchange a look.

“What?” I ask them, and Rachel’s eyes flutter open.

“You two need to kiss already,” Tina laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever said.

“Like, for real,” Mercedes laughs too.

Rachel wrinkles her eyebrows, then plasters an easy smile on her face. “How do you know we haven’t?” I feel nauseous when she says that…

“Well have you?” Tina asks.

“We don’t kiss and tell,” she snickers and closes her eyes again. “Do we, Quinn?”

“I already know you two kissed,” Mercedes blows on her fingernails and leans back in her chair. “Quinn told me.”

“I um… I…” ... _ can’t even form a sentence, clearly. Do you speak English? You’re such a freaking spazz. _

“I don’t believe that for one second,” Tina shakes her head. “You’re lying. You’re both too scared to kiss each other, you expect me to believe you already have?”

“We have!” Rachel sits up and runs her own fingers through her hair to fix it. I just nod my head in agreeance. “The night of Puck’s party. Didn’t we, Quinn?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” I nod and keep my lips closed very tight because I might puke if I open them.

“Do it again then,” Mercedes dares. I feel my eyes widen…

“Yeah,” Tina challenges us too. “Do it again then. With. Tongue. I dare you.”

“We already did, so it’s not that big of a deal,” Rachel shrugs and licks her lips.  _ Oh god, her lips…  _ She inches closer and closer to me… closing the space between us…

And god I want to kiss her, god I do… I forgot the way her lips feel against mine. I forgot what she tastes like. I forgot how it feels to have her breath beating down on mine and how it feels to have her tongue smashed against mine. I missed her scent. I missed her body. I missed —

“Quinn, Mercedes?” Mrs. Jones calls, following a knock at the door. 

Both me and Rachel open our eyes at the same time, the look of disappointment hitting us both simultaneously. I un-tilt my head and sigh, letting it all sink in. “Yes?”

“What, muh?” Mercedes jumps up, trying to disperse the sexual tension between me and Rachel into the air like smoke.

Mrs. Jones opens the door and sticks her head inside. “Quinn, your parents are here. I can send them away if you want…”

“My parents?”

“Your parents.


	32. Daylight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a little bit of racy language in here but nothing too explicit. Still, just wanted to warn you guys though.

* * *

* * *

When my mom used to wake me and Frannie up in the mornings when we were still in elementary school, she would kneel beside our beds and stroke her fingers across our cheeks. In those hazy moments between sleep and consciousness, she would whisper soft things in our ears as our eyelashes would flutter open, and I only remember one thing from the dozens that she used to repeat.

One morning, when I was maybe seven, she climbed into the small twin-sized bed next to me and rested her head on my pink and white Barbie pillow. I could feel her presence beside me, so I didn’t have to open my eyes. I blindly felt my way over to her and nestled my head in the crook of her neck. She ran her fingers through my tangly blonde locks, put her lips to my ear and said, “The sun’s awake, my little Lu. Time to get up.”

Ever since she said that to me, I’ve always looked outside my window to make sure the sun was awake before I was awake. If it was still dark outside, I would jump back into my bed, pull the blankets up to my neck, and give myself back to sleep until the sun decided to wake up.

Well, the sun is not awake right now, the sun is nowhere to be found, and I really am starting to question if it was necessary to even be functioning at this hour.

Mr. Schue walks up the aisle with his index finger perched and pointing. He silently mumbles numbers to himself as he counts each person in every seat, and I look around. I’m in the very back, where nobody can see me and nobody can sit behind me. Tina, in sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt, is across the aisle and two seats up, but I can still see her from where I’m sitting. After Mr. Schue counts her, she curls up in her seat and puts her head on Mike’s lap, who is sitting beside her. Mercedes is directly in front of me and even though she has her neck pillow around herself and her headphones plugged into her ears, Sam shuffles down the aisle and takes a seat beside her. Santana sits three rows ahead of Mercedes and Sam, and Brittany takes the seat in the row above her so they can talk if they need to, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll be doing much talking because Artie actually ends up sitting in the handicap aisle right next to Brittany. Puck and Finn take the two empty seats at the front of the bus, right behind Miss Pillsbury and Mr. Schue. Then Lauren and Sugar take two seats behind Puck and Finn. Then Rachel is the last one to come on the bus and I don’t know why, because she came with me and the girls, but she stopped and called her dads before we got on and I guess that kept her a little bit behind.

Everyone has either a blanket or a pillow and seems to be settling in for a long nap on this nearly eight hour bus ride, and I feel myself relax a bit because I’m actually not the only one wearing pajama pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

When my alarm went off along with everyone else’s, I got up and acted like a typical Quinn Fabray. I put on a dress and a pair of tights and plugged in the curling iron to do my hair even though I could barely keep my eyes open. Rachel, Tina and Mercedes all looked at me strangely when they came into the bathroom. Mercedes made a good point when she asked me if I was going to be comfortable in what I was wearing and then I looked at all the things they were wearing. Tina with her sweatshirt and sweatpants. Mercedes with her yoga pants and oversized sweater. Then Rachel with her leggings and summer camp hoodie. I went back into my bedroom and found my favorite pair of flannel pajama pants and the t-shirt I bought three years ago when me and Frannie saw Ed Sheeran in concert. Of course I put my UGGs on because my feet are cold and maybe I look like a rich snob in my polar white Northface. But I wasn’t sure how cold or hot the bus was going to be, so I wanted to be prepared.

Mr. Schue walks up and down the aisle one last time and as soon as he gives the bus driver a “thumbs up,” I fold my fluffy pillow in half as best as I can and put it against the window so I can lay my head down and go to sleep. But as soon as I close my eyes, I hear a throat clearly very softly right next to me, so I open them back up.

She curls her toes inside of her fuzzy silver slippers, and holds her big brown fleece blanket against her chest. Her ponytail is lazy as it hangs over her left shoulder, but I think she looks beautiful with the way little pieces of her hair are left out of it. She glances down at the empty space on the seat beside me, then looks at me again. Asking. And I really didn’t think she would want to sit next to me, after the night we had. Because it’s kind of our thing to ignore each other after something major happens between us.

But I’m breaking the cycle, because I scoot over a little closer to the window and make room so she can sit with me if she wants to.

She slides into the seat with me and spreads her blanket out so it covers both of us. And I have my pillow to keep my head comfortable and now she gave me her blanket to keep myself warm, so I lean towards her a little more and offer her my shoulder. And it’s like we have our own little unspoken language between us, because she lays her head on my shoulder without missing a beat and pulls her blanket way up to her neck. I put my pillow against the window and close my eyes again. But then her hand starts shuffling underneath the blanket like it’s searching for something, so I give her mine because I just have a feeling that it’s what she’s searching for. And it is. She locks her fingers inside of mine and the two of us breathe in tune with each other, linked.

The driver turns the lights out and the entire bus is pitch dark because at four in the morning, the sun is not awake and we shouldn’t be either.

The engine of the bus roars to life, but me and Rachel are fast asleep.

* * *

_ I didn’t think that I was super excited for sectionals, but I guess I am because I cannot fall asleep. I have that feeling in my chest, like a kid on Christmas Eve. I want to close my eyes and go to sleep because I want tomorrow to come as quickly as it possibly can. But when I close my eyes to actually do it, I just end up laying there really still for several moments until I give up and acknowledge the fact that I cannot fall asleep. Then I toss and turn. I put one arm under the pillow, then both arms under the pillow. I put one foot outside my blankets, then both feet. I lay on my stomach, then on my side. Then on my back. I raise one leg, then both legs. Then I sigh and grit my teeth and get angry and reach over for my phone to check the time. _

_ It’s that kind of routine over and over and over again. _

_ Last time I checked, it was midnight. Rachel, Tina, Mercedes and I decided to officially part ways and go to bed at nine, so I’ve been tossing and turning in bed next to Mercedes for three hours. She sleeps like a log and she hasn’t moved a single muscle since she fell asleep at a quarter after nine. I don’t understand how sleep came so naturally to her. Not when tomorrow is going to be the best day of our lives. _

_ I roll onto my side again and grab my phone for another time check. It’s 12:15 now. Great. Another fifteen minutes of no sleep just wasted. _

_ I wonder… because the only person that would be just as excited as me and therefore unable to sleep would be… _

_ I unlock my phone and scroll to her contact. I tap the “message” icon underneath her name and my thumbs hover over the keyboard as I try to think of what to say. The last time I texted her, I got into a world of trouble… _

** _iMessage_ **

** _Saturday, October 26_ **

** _12:17 a.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ are you awake? i can’t sleep :/ _

** _12:18 a.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Me either. Tina is out like a light but I’m just staring at the walls. I’m going to be so tired in the morning :( _

** _ME: _ ** _ hopefully we can sleep on the bus. mercedes is out too. my mind is just sooo full to sleep… _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Are you okay? If you want to talk about it we can… _

** _ME: _ ** _ what do you mean??? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Your parents just showing up like that. That wasn’t cool. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ You handled it well though! _

** _ME: _ ** _ oh idc about that. i’m just not thinking about it. i’m thinking about other stuff. like sectionals. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Thought you were gonna say you were thinking about me :b _

** _ME: _ ** _ i mean obviously _

** _ME: _ ** _ lol. _

** _ME: _ ** _ i’m thinking about you alright. _

** _ME: _ ** _ as i’m sure you’re thinking about me. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ I’m always thinking about you… _

** _ME: _ ** _ always? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Pretty much yeah lol _

** _ME: _ ** _ what do you think about? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ What you’re doing mostly. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Whar you’re thinking. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ *what _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ And other stuff…….. _

** _ME: _ ** _ what other stuff? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ I think you already know. _

** _ME: _ ** _ hmm i don’t think i do _

** _ME: _ ** _ wanna enlighten me a bit…? :) _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ How about you come across the hall if you want me to enlighten you so much. Then I can show you exxxxxactly what I think about ;) _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ ….Lol _

** _ME: _ ** _ are you threatening me? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Depends on how you’d feel about it if I was. _

** _ME: _ ** _ i’d be flattered _

** _ME: _ ** _ and a bit turned on… _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Guess I’m threatening you then. _

** _ME: _ ** _ i think you’re all talk. no action. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Just come to your room. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Only one way to find out. _

** _ME: _ ** _ threat? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Promise. _

_ I lock my phone and hold it against my chest. My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and I can hear it in my ears again. And I’m so glad that Mercedes is asleep, because the smile on my face is so wide that I’m sure she’d be able to see it even though the darkness. She wants me to go over there. Tina is sleeping and so is Mercedes and I’m pretty sure everyone else in the house are sleeping too. So it’s just us. And she wants me to go over there… _

_ Oh my god, what do I do? What do I say? What do I text back? DO I text back? What do I do if I go over there? What if I kiss her? What if she kisses me? What if something else happens? Something more? Do I want something more…? Oh god, I don’t know what I’m doing! I’ve never actually ...done things! With a girl! I’ve barely done things with boys! Let alone girls! What if I don’t know what I’m doing? What if I’m bad at it? _

_ Oh god no, she’s going to think that I don’t want to see her. If I sit here and wait, she’s going to think that my silence means something different than that I’m just nervous and I’m going to blow it. _

_ Even though I know Mercedes won’t wake up, I clutch my phone tightly and roll out of bed as quietly as I can. I fix the shorts and t-shirt that I’m sleeping in, and even smooth my hair back. And before I open the door to go across the hall to my room, I shove my hand underneath my shirt and use my cloth-covered index finger to wipe my teeth and tongue. I brushed them before I went to bed, of course. But I still don’t want there to be any plaque or bad tastes on my breath. Just in case I do actually kiss her tonight or something. _

_ I glance over my shoulder just to make sure Mercedes is actually sleeping, then pull open her door very slowly. And I look both ways down the hallway just to make sure the coast is clear. Then I tiptoe across the hall and a few feet down to the door beside the bathroom. My door. She and Tina are sleeping in my room. _

_ I hold my breath as I turn the knob, don’t exhale as I push the door open… _

_ And once I’m inside, it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. I can tell where she is, because the light from her phone glows in the corner of my bed, and she suddenly locks it when she notices that I actually came. And she laughs softly to herself, snorting through her nose. The mattress creaks a little as she climbs out of the bed. _

_ “You actually came,” she whispers quietly, but loud enough so I can hear her. “My God.” _

_ “I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t,” my tone matches hers. It’s quiet, but loud enough for us to hear. _

_ I feel my way through the darkness and over to the edge of my bed, opposite the side that Tina is sleeping on. I press my legs up against the frame of my bed so I know where I am in relation to it, then slide down until I’m eventually sitting on my butt with my back against my bed. I can’t see Rachel moving beside me, but I can tell when she sits down next to me because I feel the warmth radiating off her body. And her elbow brushed against mine. And my stomach is turning backflips inside of me. _

_ Now what? I don’t think either of us planned on getting this far. I don’t think either of us thought about what would happen if we got this far. I don’t think either of us know what to do… _

_ Do I just lean in and start kissing her? No, that would be weird. And plus, she can’t see me and I can’t see her. So I might end up kissing her ear and thinking that it’s her mouth. Do I ask her if I can kiss her first? Consent is everything. I don’t want to just start randomly making out with her when I don’t know if that’s what she wants. Maybe I should just hug her. Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just wrap my arm around her. Let her know that I’m all in if she’s all in. Maybe from there, the hug will lead into something more. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll just lightly drape my arm around her and hope that she leans in. _

_ “So… you can’t sleep?” She whispers, softer than what we’ve been talking like. Nervous, maybe. Or embarrassed, slightly. _

_ “No,” I shake my head. “I think I’m too excited to sleep.” _

_ “Yeah,” she sighs. _

_ And we’re right back to being quiet. Sitting side by side, saying nothing. Just letting the air circulate between us. I sigh too, because this really isn’t what I wanted it to be. How can both of us be too scared to make the first move? _

_ The light from her phone starts glowing again, and when I look over at her, her thumbs are flying across her keyboard. And I’m instantly a little mad about that because who could she possibly be texting this late at night? And I try to swallow that anger quickly because I know it’s misdirected and unfair. I don’t own Rachel, she is not my property. But still… I don’t want her texting anyone else at this hour... _

_ Maybe she’s like me and unsure if she should make the first move or not. Maybe she doesn’t know if I want to kiss her or not. Maybe she’s just very unclear. And maybe she’s just tweeting, too. Maybe she’s not texting anyone. Maybe she — _

_ As soon as she locks her phone again and it stops glowing, mine buzzes in my hand. I look around to make sure Tina is still sleeping, then open it up. _

** _New iMessage_ **

** _Saturday, October 26_ **

** _12:43 a.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Still want to find out what I think about? _

_ My face-eating smile returns and so do the butterflies in my stomach. I want to squeal, but she’s right next to me so I wipe the smile off my face and adjust my composure. _

  
  


** _12:43 a.m._ **

** _ME: _ ** _ you’re all talk. no action. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ You want action? _

** _ME: _ ** _ hell yeah but you won’t do anything. lol. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ What if I told you that the one time we did kiss is all I ever think about… _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ ??? _

** _ME: _ ** _ i would say that you’re not alone. _

** _ME: _ ** _ and i would tell you that there’s more where that came from. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ What if I put my phone down right now and kissed you? _

** _ME: _ ** _ you would find out just how bad i’ve been wanting that… _

** _ME: _ ** _ what if i kissed you back and put my hands on your waist because i’ve wanted to do that again since the last time? _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ I would take your shirt off since it’s thin and you don’t need it anyway. Because I didn’t appreciate the opportunity the first time. I didn’t take it for all it was worth. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ What if I told you I never wanted to kiss somebody so badly before? _

** _ME: _ ** _ i would tell you that i’ve never wanted anyone the way i want you… _

** _ME: _ ** _ what if i dared you to kiss me? right now. _

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ What if I dared you? _

_ Just do it, Quinn. She wants it and you want it and you better not chicken out because you’ve been wanting to do this for so long. She’s giving you the opportunity right now and she said she wants it herself. Just do it. Just freaking do it. Don’t be a coward. Don’t be a chicken. Make the first move. Let her know you’re interested. Do it. Do it. Do it. _

_ I toss my phone to the side like it’s a mere inconvenience that I want to get out of my way, and I don’t know how I can see through the darkness or if I just know in my heart where her lips will be, but I find them with ease. I find them and I smash my lips against hers and unlike the first time, there is no hesitation between us. _

_ As soon as our lips meet, hers open and so do mine and our tongues meet each other somewhere in the middle with electricity between them. It’s like they’ve been long lost and this is the first time they’ve been reunited. I explore her mouth with my tongue, each and every corner. It’s a mouth that I want to get to know because I sure do plan on kissing it a whole lot. Our lips open and close in perfect rhythm with each other and her breath is bitter, like the aftertaste of mint toothpaste on her tongue. It’s bitter, but I crave more. _

_ And again, it’s like I can’t get enough of her. Her tongue is tangled up in mine and my hands are gripping and cupping and clawing at her waist because I want more of her. I want every single inch of her body and too close is not close enough. Her head tilts to the side to allow my tongue deeper inside of her mouth, but I’m dizzy over the feeling of her hands tangling up in my hair. She pulls my ponytail out and shakes my hair between her hands, but never breaks the kiss. _

_ It starts rising up in the back of my throat like bile again. That heavy, thick, gray sludge of shame. I think about my mother’s words and the Bible’s teaching. I think about hell and how my ticket there is surely punched after this. I think about Beth and my mother and my sister and father, the people I love who will be in heaven while I’m below, burning for eternal damnation. I think about all of that just washing away, like a shell getting carried off to sea by the tide. Or the way a rope burns quick, all the way up to the top as soon as you expose it to flame. I think about all of that going away just for this one moment of bliss. This moment of Rachel having me and me having her. _

_ I don’t think it’s wrong because it feels so right. _

_ Her hands slip under my t-shirt and the tips of her thumbs brush against the burning hot skin of my abdomen. A tingle arches across my scalp. Her touch is electric, it brings me to life. Her thumbs drag all the way up to my chest and I only remember that I’m not wearing a bra when her fingers graze my bare boobs. I pull away from the sheer shock of it, but her touch is gentle. She rests her hands just on the sides of my boobs, as if she’s asking permission to touch me there. _

_ And I don’t have to verbally say yes to let her know that it’s okay. I let her know just by the way my lips go hungrily to her throat. I take the soft skin of her neck between my two lips and suck on it slightly. She stops kneading my chest for a split second so a low, satisfied groan can escape from her lips. And it’s kind of beautiful, actually. The sound of a woman being turned on by something you’re doing to her. It’s like a drug to me because the moment I hear her moan and realize that yes, this is me, and I CAN make her moan, I want to do it more and more. My tongue prods her neck, all the way up to her earlobe. _

_ And I’m eager to see what this is doing to her, because I know it’s doing something. It’s like waiting to see the results of something you’ve just did. Like submitting the application to a credit card. The circle in the middle of your browser is going around and around and around and when it stops, you’ll either see a “congratulations!” or an “I’m sorry.” That’s what it’s like. I’m kissing and gnawing all over her neck, which I think is her spot. And her breath keeps catching in her throat. And I’m doing something, I know I am. The browser stopped thinking and the circle stopped spinning. And now, I get to see my result… _

_ My thumb pulls the elastic waistband of her shorts away from her skin. I meet the cotton of her underwear next, but I peel that layer back too. _

_ My four fingers slide into her underwear, but I stop them on her way lower stomach and the tips of my fingers brush against a tuft of very fine hair. I’m so eager to go further, eager to know if my neck kissing paid off and my hands will get wet, but I wait. I want to give her the opportunity to stop me if she wants it. _

_ But then, the stupid fucking mattress creaks. And the blankets rustle. And her hands are out from underneath my shirt just as quickly as mine are out of her underwear. And we both duck. _

_ And I’m really fucking mad at Tina even though she didn’t actually wake up. I’m mad at her for stirring and ruining the moment. Because even though Rachel tries to start kissing me again when the blankets settle and we’re in the clear, it’s not the same. The tension between us isn’t the same. The anticipation isn’t burning anymore. And the kisses don’t feel the same. The mood doesn’t feel the same for either one of us. _

_ So we stop. And I quietly stood up and Rachel looked up at me from where she still sat on the floor. And I mouth the word “goodnight” to her and she smiles at me. _

_ I go back to Mercedes’ room and plug my phone into the charger again. _

_ And I’m fully expecting to climb back into the bed with Mercedes and feel that cold shame cover my body again. I’m expecting to lie down and cry until my head hurts and I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. _

_ But when my phone lights up on the nightstand just as I’m pulling the blankets back over me, I open it up. _

** _New iMessage_ **

** _Saturday, October 26_ **

** _1:27 a.m._ **

** _RACHEL: _ ** _ Goodnight. See you in the morning. _

_ I roll over and go to sleep happy instead of going to sleep ashamed. _

* * *

As my eyelids slowly decide that they want to open, my eyebrows wrinkle as they adjust to the sudden light. It’s still not completely daytime outside and the sun still hasn’t fully come up yet, but it is considerably lighter than it was when I fell asleep, so I assume that I’ve been asleep for a while now and that we’re pretty deep into our drive.

I blink slowly and my start to water whenever I open my mouth and yawn, and then I feel the weight on my shoulder all at once. It’s like as soon as my body fully woke up, I became aware of my surroundings and that included becoming aware of the ten pound weight holding my shoulder down. I want to yawn again, loudly this time, and stretch my arms up over my head. But I glance down and see that she’s still fast asleep against my shoulder and I realize in that moment that I would stay still for the rest of my life if it meant that she would be comfortable.

So sooner than I’ve adjusted to the light of being awake, the bus makes a turn and then sputters to a stop, and the lights slowly flicker on again. I watch as all the heads that were once down all pop back up and mumble half-asleep nothings. Mr. Schue stands up and stretches and clears his throat loud enough for everyone to hear him.

Against my shoulder, Rachel stirs and I accidentally put my lips to her forehead to settle her. I realize the mistake I made pretty quickly though, and I don’t think anyone saw me. She grumbles a little bit, then picks her head up and looks around.

“We… stopped?” she asks, still halfway unconscious.

“Looks like,” I reply.

“How are we gonna get there in time if we make a bunch of stops?” she asks as she rubs her eyes, voice raised an entire pitch because she’s talking through a yawn.

“We’ll be fine,” I assure her and look at Mr. Schue, who is now standing in the middle of the bus.

“We’re gonna camp out here at the truck stop for a second, guys. You’re free to go inside and use the bathrooms if you need to and there’s a couple restaurants inside that you can go and get some food from. Just be back at the bus in TWENTY minutes, okay? We’re on a pretty tight schedule.”

A few aisles up, Kurt rises and slips his eye-mask up just enough for us to see his eyes. “Are we halfway there yet?”

“We’re not even out of Ohio yet. We’re only in Youngstown, guys.”

Mercedes yawns and stands up from her seat, turning around so she can face me. She leans back and stretches out as she starts talking to me.

“If you’re hungry,” she groans through the stretch. “My dad gave me some money for the both of us to spend. I’m gonna go in and see what kind of food they have.”

“I have my own money. My mom transferred me some before she left last night, so.” I stand up and wait for Rachel to shuffle out of the seat. I roll her blanket up and rest it on the seat so it doesn’t get dirty on the floor, and set my pillow on top of it.

All of us file off the bus and disperse inside the truck stop.

* * *

“Quinn?!” The little redheaded barista calls my name as she snaps the lid on my drink. I stand up from the table that me, Mercedes, Rachel and Tina decided to sit at while we wait and walk through the velvet roped lines to grab it. “Have a good morning!” she chirps as she hands it to me.

“Thank you,” I reply as I stuff a straw inside. I’m not a big Starbucks fan, but I wasn’t about to come here with everybody else and not order something, so I got my usual order. It’s not an iced coffee or anything, but I find their strawberry açaí lemonade refreshers to be… well… refreshing.

“Okay,” Mercedes starts as everyone starts standing up. “Just Rachel left? Then we can head back to the bus?”

“Yeah, seems like,” I mumble and look through the line across the way at Dunkin’ to see if I can find her. 

Before we went to Starbucks, we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts to get breakfast food because the line wasn’t long, but Rachel stopped to call her dads again and got split up with us in line because Finn, Mike and Puck were being assholes and wouldn’t let her cut them to stay with us. So while she waited behind them, we just got drinks from Starbucks but she’s still not out of line yet. I don’t want her to be alone, so I leave my Dunkin’ bag with Mercedes and Tina and walk the few hundred feet over to where she’s standing in line.

“Whatcha getting good?” I ask her as I stand beside her.

“I dunno yet,” she ponders as she looks up at the menu. “I’m thinking…”

“Can I help you?” The guy standing behind the register asks her.

“Yes, can I have a… um… a large iced coffee, no cream, just five sugars, a… sausage, egg and cheese bagel but no cheese on that, please. And a… two blueberry donuts,” she orders with her nicest fake polite voice ever and I know some people find her annoying but they just don’t know her like I do.

“So I’ve got a large iced coffee, black with five sugars, a sausage and egg bagel, and two blueberry glazed donuts?” He repeats her order back and she nods her head. “That’ll be $15.62.”

“Thank you,” Rachel mumbles as she rummages through her wallet.

As she’s rummaging, I just reach into the pocket of my pajama pants and hand the cashier my red and silver Bank of America card.

“Debit or credit?” He asks me, which makes Rachel’s head pop up.

“Credit’s fine,” I shrug. “Don’t worry about it,” I nudge Rachel with my elbow.

“Let me at least give you the money back for it,” she files through a few loose five dollar bills. “You didn’t have to do that, I have it, I just have to find my card in this mess. I just want to save my cash just in case I want to get a t-shirt in Hershey or something.”

“I said don’t worry about it,” I mumble under my breath. “I wanted to do that for you. Chivalry isn’t… dead or whatever.”

As we move on through the line, Finn is the last of their bunch to get his food and instead of heading out the door like the rest of his friends did when they got their food, he circles around for some reason. And he stands right beside me and Rachel, but he directs his attention to Rachel. I’m annoyed before he even speaks.

“You didn’t get any dairy, did you?” he asks her and Rachel looks like she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her face is blank, like she’s trying to keep it together between the both of us. She shakes her head very slowly, carefully choosing not to show emotion. “Good. You know that stuff coats your throat. No dairy before performing.”

He puts his hands on her shoulders and caresses them really gently and lovingly and I wait for her to shrug him off, but she doesn’t. And I feel rage bubbling up inside of me, about to spill over.

“You didn’t need me to pay for your food, did you, babe? I’m sorry I forgot to ask,” he’s all chattery with her now that his friends are gone and I am so. Furious.

_ Babe? Why are you calling her babe? She’s not your babe. _

“No, Quinn got it,” Rachel says softly.

_ Right. Now tell him not to call you babe. And tell him not to touch you… _

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t shrug him off or correct him and I’m trying not to be mad at her because I know this is a process that you have to work through, but I can’t help it.

I just walk away from the two of them and head back for the bus.

* * *

I was one of the first people on the bus again, so I get to watch everyone slowly pile back on. And between small bites of my breakfast burrito and picking through the box of donut holes I intended to share with Rachel, I just watch as everyone and their other halves all take their seats.

Sam and Mercedes pile back into their same seat, and Sam offers Mercedes a bite of his chocolate croissant. Mike steals sips of Tina’s Starbucks drink. Kurt wipes Blaine’s mouth with a napkin. Miss Pillsbury pulls Mr. Schue’s sleeves up while he eats a piece of sausage. Artie picks bacon out of his breakfast bowl and lets Brittany eat the pieces he doesn’t want. Even Puck breaks off half of his donut and shares it with Lauren.

And for a second I have to really convince myself that crying wouldn’t solve anything, because I really just want to cry.

_ Why can’t I have that…? I’ll probably never have that. At least not with Rachel… _

Rachel and Finn are the last ones to shuffle back onto the bus and I keep my head down when Rachel makes her way back to me. She stops at my seat again and I want to let her sit by me again, I really do. But I think I might get too sad when I think about the way she didn’t correct him or shrug him off. I think it might hurt too much. Even though I know that she’s just as confused as I am and I won’t be mad forever, I just need a second to let the hurt fade.

So I toss her blanket into the seat across from me and put my feet up on my seat so she can’t sit down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so there’s no confusion:
> 
> Quinn’s dream on the bus was reality. She dreamt about what she and Rachel did the night before.
> 
> And I just want to know if we’re on the same page here, so I’ll ask. Is everybody okay with smut? 
> 
> I’m not a huge fan of writing smut, and I don’t tend to put it in my stories unless it serves a purpose, and it is going to serve a purpose in this story 100%, so it’s coming. I usually try to focus on the emotional part of it instead of the physical part of it, but my smut does get a little... detailed and I just want to make sure we’re all adults here and are okay with that.
> 
> What was in this chapter (which was a very little bit) is just a small part of what’s to come in terms of graphic language, so just start preparing yourself now. Lmao.


	33. Nightmare

**New iMessage**

**Saturday, October 26**

**8:17 a.m.**

_**RACHEL**: I’m thinking about you._

_**ME**: i’m thinking about you too._

_**RACHEL**: Can’t believe we’re going to have a hotel room to ourselves for an entire night…_

_**ME**: does that excite you?_

_**RACHEL**: YOU excite me._

_**ME**: oh do i? ;)_

_**ME**: how much do i excite you?_

_**RACHEL**: I’ll show you when we get there._

_**ME**: i’m holding you to that._

_**ME**: so you think we’re going to do something?_

_**RACHEL**: I think it’ll be hard for me to keep my hands off you if we’re in a room together all night with no supervision._

_**ME**: i don’t want your hands off of me anyway._

_**RACHEL**: Good, then we’re on the same page :)_

_**ME**: if we were in the room right now, what would you do?_

_**RACHEL**: Depends._

_**ME**: on…?_

_**RACHEL**: What you’re wearing, first off all._

_**RACHEL**: And how explicit I’m allowed to be._

_**RACHEL**: Lol._

_**ME**: as explicit as you possibly can be…_

**RACHEL** _: I’ll just leave it up to your imagination and we’ll see if i surprise you or not._

_**ME**: i can still taste your lips from last night if i try hard enough._

_**RACHEL**: Me too._

_**ME**: of course, i’d like to taste other things…_

_**ME**: hehe ;)_

_**RACHEL**: Patience is a virtue. :b_

_**ME**: rachel?_

_**RACHEL**: Yes?_

_**ME**: … i don’t want you to talk to anyone else. and especially not finn._

_**RACHEL**: Wait…_

_**RACHEL**: Who is this?_

_**RACHEL**: This isn’t Finn?!_

_**RACHEL**: Omg!_

_**RACHEL**: Quinn I am so sorry I thought I was texting Finn! I didn’t mean to… omg this is such a huge misunderstanding…_

_**ME**: what?_

_**RACHEL**: I am so sorry. So sorry. I should have doubled checked the names as I was texting. We can’t text anymore. I’m so sorry. I’m in love with Finn and he’s who I want. I was just confused last night but I’m not now. So sorry Quinn. But this has to be goodbye._

_**ME**: wait, rachel…_

_**ME**: what the hell?_

_**ME**: we should talk about this…_

_ ***You have been blocked from sending iMessages to this user*** _

My eyes snap open in one split second and my heart jumps up into my throat as I startle myself awake. My pillow falls onto the floor because I picked my head up from it so suddenly, and my eyes instantly start to burn as they adjust to suddenly being thrust into consciousness. 

I look around the bus to make sure nobody saw me jump like that, and scoop my pillow off the floor in one motion. Almost everybody is asleep again, and those who aren’t are busy playing on their phones or listening to music. They’re not paying any attention to me.

Tina’s head is on Mike’s shoulder and she’s fast asleep and Mercedes’ head is against the window while Sam’s head is in her lap and they’re both asleep. I try to talk myself out of looking across the aisle in the seat right across from mine. I try to convince myself that I’m still mad at her and I don’t care if she’s sleeping or if she’s awake, but it’s a battle between my head and my heart and my heart is set to win. My head loses the battle and my heart allows me to glance over at her for just a moment.

Her legs are stretched out onto the seat as her back is against the wall, and instea_d _of covering herself with the blanket, she has it rolled and stuffed behind her lead like a makeshift pillow. Her arms are draped loosely across her chest and her shoulders move up and down in rhythm with her breathing.

Everyone is asleep and I think I was, too. _Just a dream?_ I grab my phone from the pocket of my backpack that I shoved it inside and open it up as fast as I can. When I open the text message thread between me and Rachel, an overwhelming sense of relief washes over me when I see that there’s nothing new. Just the text messages from last night. Nothing about her thinking that I am actually Finn and nothing about her blocking my number. _More like a freaking nightmare! That was awful!_

As I lock my phone up again and stuff it back inside my backpack, my eyes can’t help but wander over her way again. She’s sleeping so soundly and she looks so beautiful. Staring at her is one of my favorite things to do and she is sleeping, so I can do it freely. And I just can’t help but think of all the things I would be doing if I wasn’t so mad at her. If wasn’t so mad at her for what she did (or didn’t do) back at Dunkin’, I would get into that seat with her and grab her gently by the arms. She would stir a little bit from behind woken up like that, but I would just tell her to “shh” real softly and make her lie her head on my shoulder so her neck doesn’t get a bad cramp. We’re far enough in the back of the bus that nobody can see us, so I would kiss her forehead and wrap her blanket around her because it’s cold and drafty on this bus and I don’t want her to freeze. I would wrap my arm around her so she felt secure and safe, and I would let her sleep until we got to Hershey.

But this is real life, and I am actually still a bit mad at her for not correcting Finn and letting him call her pet names, so I keep my butt in my seat and watch her sleep from a distance.

_I kinda wish she was awake so we can talk about why I’m mad at her. Maybe we can clear it up…_

The bus makes a turn like it did the last time we pulled into a truck stop and I feel it slow down, but when I look out my window, we’re not in a truck stop again. It’s more of a gas station this time, so I’m not surprised when Mr. Schue stands up but doesn’t make the driver turn the lights on or anything. He just stands up, stretches for a second, and starts to speak softly like he’s trying not to wake up those who are still sleeping.

“We’re at a gas station, guys. If you need to use the bathroom or want to go get a drink, be my guest but be back here in five. We’re not here long. Just stopping for gas.”

I look around at everyone still sleeping, and I’m not surprised that nobody gets up to get off. Nobody even stands up except for Santana, and she only stands up to stretch, it seems. I’m not sure how far from Hershey we are, but I know that it’s almost nine in the morning, which means we’ve been driving a little over four hours now, so logically we should have about four left. I can easily get through four more hours on the bus by sleeping, so I fluff my pillow up and put it back against the window so I can settle in.

But as soon as I’m ready to close my eyes, I feel the seat sink in beside me and I lift my head to see who suddenly took it upon themselves to sit beside me uninvited, and I’m a little surprised but mostly annoyed to find that it’s Santana, of all people.

_“_Can I help you?” I grumble at her and almost snatch my hand away when she randomly decides she wants to hold it. “Excuse you…?“

“Just pretend that we like each other and are happy for five minutes,” she says to me through clenched, smiling teeth and I think for a moment that she’d make a really convincing ventriloquist. Her eyes are dead set, staring at the front of the bus but her smile is big, bright and fake. Fake, fake, fake.

“Santana,” I sigh, trying to pull my hand out of her grasp. She only squeezes it tighter, though. “Let go of me. It’s too early in the morning and —“

“Q, seriously.” She loosens her grip on my hand just enough for it to stop being uncomfortable for me, and hangs her head like she’s trying to whisper to me. “Just for one second. Please?”

Now that her head is down and she’s not looking anymore, I lift mine and try to guess what it was she was looking at. It doesn’t take me long to figure it out, though. All I have to do is look up to where Brittany is sitting and I can clearly see that she is holding Artie’s hand and laughing. They make such an odd couple that I find it hard to believe Brittany is with him for anything more than just a one-sided joke, but it seems like she really likes him. I mean, I’ve never seen anyone make Brittany smile like that. Not even Santana. Well… maybe Santana, but only once or twice. She seems… happy with him. Not like it’s forced. Like she actually maybe even likes him.

And while a part of me is happy for the Brittany that I used to be best friends with when I was a Cheerio, a bigger part of me aches for Santana. That part of me hangs my head, too. Because bearing witness to somebody else making Brittany laugh and smile the way I know Santana wants to make her laugh and smile makes me feel guilty. Like I’m complicit and a part of making Santana feel so terrible just by watching her with Artie and being happy for her. The part of me that aches for Santana laces my fingers inside of hers. Because if there’s anything I can do to make her feel a little less pain than what I think she’s feeling right now, I’m willing to do just about that. I know, I know I should still be kind of mad at her for sharing my secret with the entire school, but I’m not. At least not fully. And I think it’s because I understand her, and I understand that hurt people hurt people because I was like that once. I was a hurt person and I hurt others because I was hurt and hurt people hurt people. I just want Santana to stop hurting.

Santana starts to lift her head back up, but I nudge her with my elbow so that she knows to keep her head down and it’s not safe to look yet.

“She’s still holding his hand,” I mumble to her, trying to soften the blow as I’m actually watching Brittany kiss Artie and not holding his hand.

“Thanks,” her voice cracks but I see no tears and I’m proud of her for not crying because if it were me, I would surely be crying by now.

_I’m not sure if she knows… maybe she’s already used her “gaydar” and figured it out by now because I’m not all that good at hiding it anymore. But even if she didn’t sniff it out and even if she doesn’t know yet, I have a feeling deep inside of me that she won’t judge. I have a feeling that she will listen and understand and this will be something that the two of us can bond over. So it’s not that big of a deal. You can tell her…_

“...Finn called Rachel his ‘babe’ back at the truck stop. He offered to pay for her food, called her ‘babe’, and I almost lost my mind,” I say in my best, toughest, most “Quinn Fabray” voice possible. She slowly lifts her head and looks at me and our eyes meet for a second. She asks me with her eyes, and I just nod my head. “Know how you feel.”

For a while, Santana doesn’t say anything. The bus starts moving again and both of us _stare _out the window until the trees we’re passing on the highway turn into blobs of brown, orange and red.

This is my favorite time of the year, by the way. When the trees are all a blur of brown, orange, red and yellow — the best kind of mess — the kaleidoscope explosion of trees that have always comforted me. I really like the leaves, there’s something neat about them.

Leaves don’t linger. They come in the springtime and stick around for the summer and do exactly what they need to do. They don’t stick around. When the temperature drops, the sun hides and life becomes unsustainable, they let go and flutter to uncertainty. They don’t hold on, hoping that things will get better and life will go back to normal. Everything changes and they fall to the ground, not knowing what may be at the bottom for them, and not caring.

“Do you ever think that she might not love you back?” she finally breaks the silence between us, but her voice sounds dead. There’s no life inside of it, no life inside of her. And it’s funny, because I never thought I’d say this… but I see a lot of myself in Santana Lopez.

“Huh?” _I heard her… I just don’t know how to respond._

“Rachel,” she starts again. “You ever think that she might not ever love you back?”

“I do,” I mumble and bite my lip to silently chastise myself for daring to admit to something so bold. “And it’s… absolutely terrifying.”

“Tell me about it,” she swallows hard and I see the glossy tears lining her eyes. “...I’m sorry for doing that to you in rehearsal the other day. It wasn’t my place and you didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. I mean really, it’s not okay. The entire school knows I was locked up in a psych ward because of her and it’s not okay. But it seems like she’s already punishing herself enough. I don’t need to add to it. “You were just —“

“Being a bitch?” she laughs when she says that but I know she doesn’t actually think anything is funny because her tears fall when she laughs. “I just… needed a minute. I needed one single minute of the focus not being on me. Just one. So I put it on you,” she shrugs. “And it wasn’t okay. I’m just… so tired of living under this microscope.”

“Santana, I get it,” I hand her the napkins from the breakfast burrito that I was too angry at Rachel to eat earlier. “It’s me you’re talking to. I get what you mean. It’s… it’s exhausting to constantly hide what you are to live up to what everyone thinks you should be. It makes you do shitty things. I get it.”

She wipes her tears with the napkins and sighs. “...Sorry for kissing you at Puck’s party, too. I shouldn’t have done that without asking you or whatever. Sorry for —“

“You don’t have to apologize for any of that,” I stop her before she gets ahead. “I’m not mad and I didn’t feel… like… ‘sexually harassed’ or anything like that. If anything, it made me see clearer. I kinda liked it,” I shrug my shoulders.

“You liked it?”

“Yeah, a little.”

“So… why didn’t you do it back?”

“I did kiss you back, don’t you remember?”

“Not the kiss… the… other thing…”

“What other thing?” _All we did was kiss, right? I know I was still going on an acid trip when you kissed me but I remember that night plain as day and all we did was kiss. I got a little contact high off the weed, I went on an acid trip, I laid down, I tripped some more, you came in, found me in the room and you kissed me. You stuffed your hand up — OH! OH! THAT OTHER THING! OH! “_Oh, you’re talking about… oh! Oh… okay… yeah, wow. I don’t know how I could forget that, but —“

“Yeah, why didn’t you do it back if you liked it so much?”

“I… don’t know…” I put my head down and start picking at the hangnail I’ve been trying to pull off my left thumb for the last two days. “It just… wasn’t… I don’t know…_”_

_“_Wait,” she turns in the seat so that she’s completely facing me and has a smug, amused look on her face. “You’ve never done anything like that before, have you?”

“Yes I have!” _I’ve had sex before! Yeah, it was only that one time when Puck… yeah but I’ve done it. And I’ve been felt up before. Back when I was dating Finn, he used to feel me up all the time. I’ve done things! I’m not a prude! I’m not a baby!_

“You totally haven’t! You’ve totally never been with a girl before…”

“Shh! Keep it down!” I swat her in the arm and look around to make sure nobody else is looking or listening to us. “And… so? The only girl I’ve ever really liked besides Hilary Duff is Rachel. And we haven’t done anything…”

“So that was your first time being with a girl? I was your first time?”

“Shut up, Santana,” I roll my eyes and turn away from her.

“Look, I’m not shaming you or anything! I’m just surprised!”

“Whatever.”

“Look, I’ll tell you something…” she pokes her head up and looks around, too. And then she turns so she’s not facing me anymore and she gets all quiet so I know she’s about to get serious. “...That was my first time too.”

_“_Wait, what?! I thought you and Brittany…?”

“Up until that point, all we did was kiss,” she sighs. “We didn’t actually… do anything until last week sometime. And she basically told me she didn’t want to do it again after we did it because she felt bad for cheating on Artie.”

“So… you and Brittany have had… it?”

“Just once,” she mumbles. “Look, I’m gonna go back to my seat, okay? But if you’re worried about it… like… about being… good when you and Rachel finally… just don’t worry about it, okay? When the moment comes, you’ll know what to do. It just… kicks in. Like muscle memory or something.”

I’m guessing that we just had too much of a deep conversation for the great and powerful and shallow Santana to handle, because she gets up pretty quickly and heads up the aisle, back to where she was sitting. She leaves too fast for me to thank her, and too fast for me to really ask questions about what she meant by “I’ll know what to do when the moment comes.”

Like I was going to do before she came over and interrupted me, I put my pillow back against the window so I can try and sleep for the last few hours on this bus.

And as I’m falling asleep, I promise myself that when we get back home, I’m going to ask Mercedes about adding Santana to our friend group.

* * *

_ I thought I was okay. _

_When Mrs. Jones came into the room and told me that my parents were here, I did feel like somebody opened up the back of my shirt and poured an entire gallon of ice water down the back of it. I froze for a moment and couldn’t even remember how to think. It kind of felt like that moment in the movies where the main character gets some bad news and everything freezes while they stumble and hold onto the wall and process it._

_Mrs. Jones told me that she would send my parents away if I wanted her to, and she asked me if I wanted her too. For a second, I thought I was going to nod my head and ask her to send them away but the good little girl still buried somewhere deep inside of me opened my mouth and croaked out the word “no.” I got off the bed and told the girls that I would be right back. I smoothed my hair back because it was a little messed up and I wanted to look presentable for my parents. I smoothed out my shirt, too. Not because it was wrinkled but because I had Rachel all over it and I felt like somehow they would be able to smell her on me._

_Now, as I stand here at the top of the steps trying to find it within myself to come down them, I’m starting to wish that I had told Mrs. Jones to send them away._

_What will they think? Will they be angry? Will they know that Rachel is here? Will they yell at me? Will they drag me out of here by my hair? Is Mom mad? Is Dad mad? He hasn’t seen me in… I don’t know how long. It’s been a long time. A really long time. Did he come to yell at me? Why are both of them here? Is something wrong? Is Frannie okay? Or Grammy? I haven’t seen Grammy since last Christmas but I still don’t want her to be sick or anything._

_“She’ll be right on down. She upstairs gabbing away with her friends.” I hear Mrs. Jones say from my place up on the steps and it suddenly becomes real to me. Like maybe I didn’t think that they were actually here inside Mercedes’ house and now they must be because her mom is talking to them._

_I thought bad things couldn’t touch me here._

_I know that is a very juvenile way of thinking and it makes me seem more immature than I actually am, but it’s the truth. I felt like the Joneses house is the one place in the world that doesn’t let the outside in. Between these walls, it is warm. I am safe. I am cared about. I am loved. And when Mr. Jones shuts and locks the doors for the night, nothing bad can come in. The outside world doesn’t come inside of here._

_My legs wobble like gelatin as I take one step down. I swallow a knot in my throat and knock it all the way down to my stomach. I take another step. I close my eyes. Take a third. Take a deep breath, there goes a fourth. I grip the railing for the fifth step, look up at the ceiling for the sixth. Silently pray to God for the seventheighthnineth. Then… for the tenth step… I have to find my strength._

_They’re in the living room, I can see them from where I stand. Mom’s hair is all pulled back into a really elegant looking bun and she’s wearing the light brown mink that Dad bought her last Christmas. Her heels are sinking into the carpet and she has a run in the back of her stockings that she would go absolutely nuts about if someone told her._

_And then there’s Dad…_

_Some little screwed up part of my brain kind of missed him._

_He stands a foot or so taller than my mother, and his arm is wrapped around her back. He wears a deep black trenchcoat and black suit pants. Everything about him is black and menacing and I feel a little bit of that fear coming back to life. I’m just as afraid of him as I’ve ever been._

_“M-Mom…? D-Dad?” I keep my hand on the bannister and stay close to the steps when I call their names._

_Mom turns around first and her makeup is done up really pretty too, so I think they probably just came from dinner or a country club meeting or a fancy yacht outing or something. Mom’s eyes fill up with tears when she sees me and she clutches her hands against her chest like she’s holding her heart very dramatically._

_“Quinnie,” she calls my name in a sing-songy voice and takes a few steps toward me. She stops when she notices that I’m taking a few steps back. “Oh, sweetheart…”_

_“Lucy,” Dad nods his head at me as his form of hello. Well hey, dad. I missed you too. I’m great, thanks for asking. It’s been a whirlwind since I’ve seen you last._

_“W-What are you guys doing here? H-How… how did you find me?” I look both of them in their eyes, just hoping that maybe they’ll notice how happy I am here. I hope maybe that they’ll care._

_“I knew this was where you’d go,” Mom rushes over to me before I have a chance to duck or dodge her, and she pulls me into the most awkward and painful hug I’ve ever been involved in. Her perfume fills my nostrils and makes my nose burn, but I lazily lift my arms up and hug her back because she’s my mommy and did kind of miss her. Just a little. “I just knew this was where you went.”_

_“Yeah, I’ve… kinda been saying here,” my voice is real low and shaky like I’m unsure of everything I say. Like there’s a right answer and a wrong answer to the things I say and I’m not sure which is which._

_“Well you need to go upstairs and pack your things,” Dad’s voice is the same ironclad, businesslike tone it’s always been. He points to the steps. “You’re going home with your mother.”_

_“No,” I shake my head and I know it’s bratty and disrespectful to tell your parents no, but I swear I didn’t say that disrespectfully. I was nice and my tone was gentle. “I mean… I mean I would like to stay...stay here.”_

_“Lucy, lets go. We don’t have time for your shenanigans tonight. Your mother and I have a very important dinner we need to get to and you are not to be freeloading here anymore. Now enough’s enough. It’s time to go. You have a house — a very nice one at that — and you’re not the parent. You don’t get to decide where you live. Your mother wants you home with her and that’s the way it’s going to be.” To my surprise, he’s not yelling or being mean about the way he’s talking to me. He’s being very reasonable. But I’m still not going…_

_“I’m gonna stay here.”_

_“Dammit Quinn,” he drops the whole “Lucy” charade so I can tell he’s getting a little frustrated. “Now I said go pack your things. Now, before I pack them for you.”_

_“But Dad, I —“_

_From the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Jones slowly walk into the hallway. She has her arms folded across her chest and her head tilted to the side and Mr. Jones stands behind her like he has her back… literally._

_“Everything good in here now?” Mrs. Jones asks._

_“We’re fine, my daughter was just packing her things so she can leave with us,” Dad waves his hand at her like she’s unimportant and it makes me mad when he does that. “Quinn, NOW.”_

_“Sounds to me like she don’t wanna leave,” Mrs. Jones steps a little closer to me. “And she don’t gotta leave if she don’t want to. I don’t want no problems here, but we’re happy to have your girl at the house.”_

_Mrs. Jones puts her hand in the middle of my back and gives me a really light rub as if she’s silently telling me that it’s okay. And when she does that, I start to actually believe that it’s really going to be okay…_

_“Your Quinn here is an exceptional baby girl, and she’s no trouble at all. We love having her. Don’t we, baby?” She looks over her shoulder._

_“That’s right,” Mr. Jones nods._

_“I’m glad you think my daughter is great. We raised her to be great and she knows that she is to be nothing less,” Dad shoots daggers at me. “But she needs to be home with my wife and this is none of you people’s concern.” He glances down at his watch then looks at me again._

_“You have ten minutes to get your things.”_

_“I’m not going!” I shake my head and the tears start rolling down my cheeks. “I’m not going! I’m not going!”_

_I hear a few thunderous footsteps on the stairs as Mercedes runs down them as soon as she hears me crying. She runs down the steps and throws her arms around me as if she can protect me or something and it just makes me cry harder. _

_“Come on,” she mumbles to me. “Let’s go back upstairs, we can go back upstairs.”_

_“YOU ARE LEAVING THIS HOUSE TONIGHT, LUCY. IF I HAVE TO DRAG YOU OUT OF HERE, I WILL. YOUR MOTHER WANTS YOU HOME WITH HER, SO LET’S GO.” Alas, Dad’s angry and domineering voice is back and it’s so loud that the walls vibrate. “I WILL DRAG YOU OUT OF HERE. I WILL BREAK EVERY BONE IN YOUR DAMN BODY IF I HAVE TO.”_

_“I’m staying! Daddy, please! I wanna stay! They don’t care! They like me! They wanna keep me! I don’t wanna go! Why do I have to go?! Please! I’m happy!” For the first time in a really long time… I am actually afraid. Because I know my dad means it when he says that he will drag me out of here. And he will hurt me. And I just don’t want to go… I don’t want to go back home… I wanna stay…_

_Dad takes a step toward me and I take a step back. “SO HELP ME QUINN, I —“_

_“You’re not gonna touch that child in my house,” Mrs. Jones steps between the two of us. “You want her outta here, then fine. But you ain’t gonna drag her nowhere. Not in my house.”_

_“You need to give these people their phone back,” he demands, completely ignoring the tears streaming down my cheeks. “You are not freeloading here, mooching off these people, accepting all their handouts. They said they got you a phone, great. Now give it back. You don’t take anything they offer you, these people —“_

_“I’m gonna need you to chill with all that,” Mr. Jones steps in front of Mrs. Jones and pushes her behind him as if he’s protecting her from my father. “You’re not going to come into our home and disrespect us. We have names. And those names are not ‘these people.’ This is our home. And you will respect it.”_

_Dad shoots Mom a look, as if he’s telling her to do something by just glaring at her, and of course, Mom knows exactly what that something is. God, they must have rehearsed this or something._

_“Quinnie,” Mom sighs, completely clueless on how to handle the confrontation. “I’m your mother and I want you to come home with me. You are coming home with me. And that’s final. Okay?”_

_Dad, with a totally different attitude and tone, turns to Mr. and Mrs. Jones, “We’ll pay you for all the trouble but our daughter has a home.”_

_“We don’t need your money,” Mrs. Jones shakes her head. “My husband’s a doctor. A dentist, actually.”_

_“And he makes enough so that my mother doesn’t have to do anything but keep the books down at the library,” Mercedes snaps at him. “So I know what you’re thinking about us. I know what kind of ideas you have in your head. But we can take care of Quinn ourselves. So don’t ever insinuate that we can’t handle her financially.”_

_“‘Cedes, hush your mouth. You don’t speak to no adult that way,” Mrs. Jones gives her a look and Mercedes backs way down. Mrs. Jones turns to my mom and starts, “Look ma’am, I —“_

_“Judy,” Mom says her name so softly that we could hardly hear her._

_“Okay, Judy. Look… I don’t know how you run your house. I don’t know what kinda mother you is and I don’t judge much because I’m not perfect myself. But your baby is the one who came to me. You hear? She came through my door for the second time. She came to me with a face bruised to hell and a spirit broke enough to match it. Now we don’t mind taking care of Quinn. She’s in some good hands right here. Believe that. And if you love her like you come up in here claiming like you do? You’d go on and keep her right here. ‘Least til she’s good and ready to come home.”_

_Mom looks at Mrs. Jones with tears in her eyes for a really long time. The two of them lock eyes and hold each other’s gaze and it’s weird because it’s like they’re communicating telepathically or something. It’s like one mother to another. They’re speaking their own language and they understand. Finally, my mom looks away first. And she stands on her tiptoes and whispers something into my dad’s ear._

_My dad nods, then says in a very low, gruff voice, “I’ll go bring the car around.” And he leaves. Just like that. He doesn’t say goodbye to me or that he loves me or that he missed me. He says nothing, actually. Nothing at all. He just… leaves. And the door closes behind him and that’s the end of it._

_“Did I lose you, Quinnie?” Mom asks me, jaw trembling like she can’t control it. “Did I lose you? The same way I lost Frannie?”_

_“No,” I say softly, shaking my head just as soft. I shrug out of Mercedes’ hold and walk the two or three steps over to her. “But I can’t come home. Not right now.”_

_She looks at me and her tears roll down her cheeks the same way mine do and I want to hug her so badly. I want to hug her and tell her that I’m sorry for hitting her and sorry for freaking out and for ruining our family and making her life miserable and making her life hard but I’m not going to. God, I want to revert back to my old ways and take the blame just so maybe our family can go back to the way it was but that’s not progress, okay?! That’s not progress and that’s not changing. So I look my mother in her eye and take her tears in stride._

_“I can’t heal in the same environment that broke me. I can’t heal at home, Mom. I can’t. And until I’m better, I have to stay here… right where I’m at.” I take a deep breath. Then look over my shoulder to make sure Mr. and Mrs. Jones are still here. “...They’ll take care of me. And I’ll come home to see you sometimes, I’m only across town. But for now, this is my home.”_

_“Oh baby,” she whispers and pulls me into another hug. Her tears make my hair damp and I have to take a really deep breath to keep myself from crying. “I am so sorry. I love you so much.”_

_“I know you do, Mom. I know you love me the best way you know how.”_

_She lets me go after a few moments and reaches down deep into her pocket. “You’re um…” she sniffs and wipes her tears to get herself back to the same put together Judy Fabray I’ve always known. “You’re going to Pennsylvania tomorrow, right? For your choir — I mean Glee — club?”_

_“Yeah,” I nod. “To Hershey.”_

_“Okay well here,” she sniffs again and hands me six crisp twenty dollar bills. “I want you to be comfortable out there. And there will be more in your account when you wake up tomorrow, I’ll transfer you some. And your car… I’ll bring it by sometime this weekend. Okay?”_

_“Okay.”_

_“I love you?”_

_“I love you too, Mom.”_

_She nods a few times like she’s trying to hold back tears again, then heads for the door. With her hand on the knob, she turns back to look at Mr. and Mrs. Jones and her voice is steady as a rock when she tells them what she tells them next._

_“Make sure she’s okay. Please. Make sure she’s okay and she’s going to therapy and make sure she’s happy. Please.”_

_“We’ll take good care of her, Judy. We promise,” Mr. Jones assures her as he puts his arm around his wife._

* * *

“Okay guys,” Mr. Schue’s voice is loud when it wakes me. As soon as I lift my head, I notice that the bus isn’t moving anymore. “We’re here. We’re at the hotel.”

I watch as everyone’s heads pop up just like mine. Mr. Shue stands at the front of the bus and looks at us with a goofy grin. Then he looks at all of us, opens his mouth and screams:

“Here comes the New Directions!”


	34. Silence

_ “Hands, Quinn.” _

_ As soon as she says that and reminds me, I pull my index finger out of my mouth and swallow the piece of my fingernail I managed to bite off in the short amount of time it took her to notice I was biting them. I wipe my wet finger on the knee of my sweatpants and fold my hands in my lap just to keep them steady. Today’s the first day that we’ve decided to try having a session without a puzzle or a stack of paper or a fidget spinner to keep my hands busy. She’s supposedly trying to break me from the habit I have of biting my nails, but I think it’s going to be tougher than she thinks. _

_ “Sorry,” I mumble under my breath. _

_ “Would you like the fidget spinner?” She stretches to the far corner of her desk, reaching for the cup full of her fidget devices. “Or the cube?” _

_ “No,” I shake my head. “Actually, can I be excused from therapy today? I have a… monster headache. And cramps from hell. It’s a period… my period. I’m… on my period.” _

_ Jessica furrows her blonde eyebrows and tilts her head slightly to the side like she’s examining me or trying to read me for the truth. She blinks at me twice, then looks up at the clock, then back at me. _

_ “No, you may not,” she says. _

_ “What?” I furrow my eyebrows the same way she did just a second ago. “What do you mean no? I have three passes I haven’t even used yet! I’ve been here every single day since I got here, I’ve sat here and listened to you day in and day out. Most people use their personal passes up in one week! I’ve been here six and I haven’t missed one session! Isn’t this what the personal passes or for? When you’re not feeling well?!” _

_ “It’s at my discretion if I think you can use one. You’re my patient, Quinn. Everything you do gets cleared through me and if I want to deny your use of a personal pass, it’s my prerogative and I’m denying you.” _

_ “This is child abuse,” I say and it’s a simple sentence to say. Four words, sixteen letters. But the way I say it is venomous. I say it with hatred in my voice, fire in my stomach. Jessica looks at me like I’m a new species. _

_ “You feeling abused?” She mocks me which only makes me madder. _

_ “I’m leaving,” I stand up and head for the door and I think she knew what she was doing when she set up her office. She put her desk by the door instead of opposite the door and I’m willing to bet that she did that because of times like these. Times where I want to get up and storm out but I can’t because all she has to do is stand up and block the door. “Let me go!” _

_ “Sit down, Quinn.” _

_ “You can’t keep me here against my will, I don’t want to have therapy with you today, I want to go back to my room. You can’t keep me here.” I reach for the doorknob but she pushes my hand away. “Stop it!” _

_ “Sit down! Right now!” _

_ “You’re not my mom!” _

_ “You’re right, I’m not. If I was, you would’ve been here a long time ago, now sit! Right now or I’ll call _ _ Pokey and tell her that you’re being insubordinate and your privileges need to be revoked.” _

_ “You can’t do that!” _

_ “Watch me!” _

_ I’m toe-to-toe with her, literally. My feet are touching hers and our eyes are fixed on each other, both of us too stubborn and unwilling to look away. Her jaw is clenched and she is steady. I am shaking. And it seems like she is not going to give up on this, so I bite my lip just to let her know how badly I want to punch her in the face. Then I sit back down because clearly I have no choice. _

_ “I’m not letting you skip out on today, Quinn. No way. You may think that you have this all figured out and you’re outsmarting me, but you’re not. I see right through you and your deflection techniques,” she sits back down in her chair too, and lightly tosses my favorite yellow stress ball over to me. “You angry?” _

_ I let the ball sit in my lap where it landed and don’t even bother to try and stop my arms from trembling. I want to get up and hit her so badly. I want to get up, walk over to her, take the phone cord and strangle her with it. How dare she imply that she knows anything about me? She’s known me all of six weeks and most of those weeks she spent just talking to me. I only just recently started talking back. She doesn’t know a damn thing! She thinks that just because I broke down in her arms yesterday that she has some sort of right over me? She thinks she has the right to access me at all times? Well guess what? She is — _

_ “I said, ‘are you angry?’ Answer me.” _

_ “Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. _

_ “Good,” she nods her head. “Take it out on that ball.” I put the ball in the palm of my left hand and squeeze so tight that it disappears. “I’m sorry that you’re angry. I’m sorry that you have to actually sit down and allow yourself to feel your feelings.” _

_ I squeeze the ball so tight that my hand shakes. I don’t make eye contact with her. _

_ “I’m not letting you run from your feelings, Quinn. You’ve done that enough. No more swallowing things and pushing them aside just because it’s easier to deal with. No more ignoring your feelings. If you’re angry, good. That means you’re feeling something,” she sighs and I can tell that she’s starting to feel sorry for what she just did to me. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to understand why she did it. “Look… Q, I know yesterday was rough. It was our toughest session yet and I know where your head is at. I know you’re still… coming to terms with it in your head and that’s scary because what happened to you was extremely traumatic. You compartmentalized just to cope and that worked, it did. But that wasn’t healthy. And it’s my job to unpack that suitcase you put it inside of and help you deal with it emotionally. I can’t do that if you’re suddenly trying to skip the session because you don’t want to talk about it… because you don’t want to feel it.” _

_ “You just told me I was raped, how am I supposed to feel?” The second I stop squeezing the ball, the tears roll down my cheeks. _

_ “I’m not here to tell you how to feel, Quinn. I’m just here to tell you that you should. You should feel. Every emotion you pushed aside and swallowed, every feeling, every memory. You should feel all of it. Even the hard stuff.” _

_ “Why are you looking at me like that?” I sniff and wipe my eyes. “Stop looking at me like that.” _

_ “I’m not looking at you like anything,” she nudges the box of tissues across the desk at me. _

_ “You are. You’re looking at me like…” I grab a tissue and dab my eyes with it. “Like you’re waiting for me to go crazy and cry in your arms like yesterday.” _

_ “If I’m looking at you special, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to, but I can’t change it. Not anymore.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because… because you can’t go back from what you see, okay?” _

_ “What do you mean?” I ask. _

_ “Seeing someone while they’re in pieces is like seeing them naked. You can’t go back from that. You just look at them differently after.” _

* * *

I hold the door open for Santana as we walk in through the double doors and I’m instantly annoyed because cold air smacks me in the face instead of the warm air I was hoping to walk into. I know that hotel thermostats are set to make people as comfortable as possible, but a little heat in the middle of fall wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Santana mumbles a “thank you” to me under her breath, but she won’t look at me. I kind of understand it, though. She doesn’t have to look at me if she doesn’t want to because in all honesty, I don’t want to look at her. I know we’re friends and all after the conversation we had on the bus, but there’s still a heavy brokenness between the two of us that would undoubtedly escape through my eyes. 

Because seeing someone in pieces is like seeing them naked and you can’t go back from that. You just look at them differently from there on.

As Mr. Schue hands the concierge his debit card to pay for the rooms, I lean my back against a brown cobblestone pillar and look around at the place we’ll all call home for the next 48 hours. It’s not very big, and the front desk only takes up about half the room, but it smells very clean. The carpets are still plush and fluffy, there aren’t any stains anywhere. The walls all have the same dark and light brown wallpaper on them and I think it’s fitting since Hershey means chocolate.

I’ve been in a lot of hotels — most of them five star ones — but I’ve never been inside a hotel like this one before. Since moving in with the Joneses, I’ve been trying to stop thinking like the spoiled rich girl I grew up as, and start thinking like a normal functioning teenager. It’s not a five star hotel, and I probably won’t have a bed that adjusts to different settings on each side like the ones always did when I had to share them with Frannie. But it’s a nice hotel nonetheless and I’m sure we’ll all be comfortable here.

I stop looking around when I hear the concierge tell Mr. Schue, “Thank you for staying at the Inn At Chocolate Avenue, sir. Hope you and your students have a lovely stay, and good luck at your competition.” I pick my backpack up from where I dropped it at my feet and tune in as Mr. Schue stands in the middle of us and shuffles through the room keys. 

“Okay guys,” he finally gets them all organized and looks up at us. “So our rooms are split into suites. Two people per room, four people per suite. The suite connects by the bathrooms, alright? So it’s room, bathroom in the middle, other room. Like a sandwich. I’m gonna hand out assignments, so listen up.”

_ I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to say to Rachel. Maybe I just won’t say anything at all. After all, sectionals is supposed to be all about the club. Maybe if I don’t say anything then nothing will be ruined. I can swallow my irritation and pain. So what if Finn called her his “babe?” I can handle that. If I have to fight for Rachel, I guess I will. But not until we get back. Hershey is all about the club. Sectionals is the focus here. Not Rachel. _

“Quinn,” he calls my name as soon as I stop thinking and I take that as a sign. Mr. Schue holds up the room key as he looks down at a wrinkled up piece of paper with chickenscratch handwriting on it. “Your roommate is Rachel and your suitemates will be… Brittany and Santana.”

_ Oh that’s ironic. That’s ironic, God. Really. It is. Are you still actively trying to punish me, God? Or are you trying to throw me a bone with this one? Sure, why not? Why not let the four gay girls be suitemates. While you’re feeling so generous, make sure Kurt and Blaine are our neighbors. Nothing like having a big gay powwow right before sectionals. _

“Mr. Schue, do you care if we switch?” Mercedes steps up to ask. She’s glancing at me through the corner of her eye and I’m usually pretty good at knowing what Mercedes means just by one look, but I’m at a loss here. “It’s just that me and Tina wanted to be Rachel and Quinn’s suitemate. I don’t think Lauren and Sugar would care.”

“If you guys wanna swap rooms, that’s fine with me,” Mr. Schue shrugs and continues reading off names. “Puck and Finn, your suitemates are Artie and Sam.”

“Okay so yeah,” Tina starts as she and Mercedes walk up to me and check behind themselves for Rachel, who’s standing off by the elevator. I’ve been avoiding eye contact with her… “Rachel! Over here!”

“We’re just gonna switch with Sugar and Zizes so we can be suitemates.” Mercedes says.

“Actually,” I clear my throat as Rachel starts walking up to us. “We don’t have to switch. We can be suitemates with Santana and Brittany, it’s not a big deal. Is it?”

“No,” Rachel shakes her head. “I don’t care about it.”

“And me either. Santana and me had a conversation on the bus. Everything’s fine now,” I shrug.

“O…Kay? Mercedes tilts her head all confused so I decide to try and clean it up a bit.

“Maybe we can get rooms across the hall from each other or something,” I suggest and Mercedes just kind of nods so I can tell she’s a little confused by my refusal of switching suitemates.

I don’t really know why I don’t want to switch myself. I mean yeah, it’d be a lot easier to just have Tina and Mercedes be our suitemates because we’re all already comfortable around each other. We’ll be sharing a bathroom so I guess it would be smarter to share one with two girls that we already get along with and are already content with. But for some reason, I don’t care about that.

For some reason, I really want to be suitemates with Brittany and Santana.

* * *

I claimed the bed by the window and she claimed the one by the door, and somehow we were able to do all of that without even talking. Even now as I unpack my backpack and put all my soaps and lotions and stuff on the tiny desk beside the empty dresser, we still don’t speak. She folds all her clothes into neat little piles and stuffs them inside the drawers to the dresser and I don’t even know why I’m surprised that she is the type of person to actually use dressers in a hotel.

_ I guess I could start by telling her that I missed her on the bus, because that wouldn’t be a lie. I did miss her on the bus and when we were about an hour away from actually being here, I started to wish that I hadn’t been so rash at Dunkin’ and allowed her to sit with me. I debated on asking her to sit beside me about ten times before I just decided to drop the subject entirely. But I can’t go this long without talking to her. It’s driving me insane. _

She pulls her hairbrush from the tiny carry-on suitcase she used to pack her things, sits on the edge of her bed, and starts coming it through her hair. I have to fight the urge to grab the brush and start combing it for her. Her hair is so beautiful and so long and so thick. It’s so much better than my thin, wispy blonde. I could spend all day just dragging my fingers through it. I could spend all day feeling it’s perfection weave between them.

When she’s done brushing her hair, she puts her brush down and stands back up, shrugging her shoulders out of her jacket. She catches me watching her movements for a split second, but I look away as quickly as she caught me. I pick up my phone like something inside of it is really interesting and pay her no attention.

She sighs hard and then, “Is this really how this is going to be?”

“What are you talking about?” I lock my phone and toss it on my pillow just to give her my eye contact. “Is this how what is going to be?”

“This whole trip. You ignoring me, acting like I don’t exist. Is this how it’s going to be?” She sits down on her bed again but this time she is facing me. I bite the inside of my cheek and look away. “Look Quinn, whatever I did to upset you, I’m —“

“It’s not what you did, Rachel,” I sigh too. “It’s what you _ didn’t _do.”

“How is any of that my fault?!” She raises her voice a little, so I sit up just in case I have to do the same but I really hope I don’t because I don’t want anyone else to hear the two of us having a lover’s quarrel. _ If it’s even that… _“You’re acting like I asked him to do that. I didn’t ask him! I didn’t ask him to offer to pay for my food, I didn’t ask him to call me pet names, all I did was —“

“But you didn’t stop him, either! You never once stopped any of it! You let him touch all over you and rub your arms and your shoulders and call you ‘babe’ and stuff and what kind of message do you think that sends him? It tells him that you’re still interested in him and I —“

“You’re acting _ insane, _whoa! What did you want me to do?! What did you want me to say?! I’m sorry Quinn, but I just —“

“You could’ve told me it didn’t mean anything,” my voice breaks a little when I say that, so I look up at the ceiling. “You could have followed me and said… _ anything. _Anything to make me stop feeling like somebody just punched me…”

“How could I when you wouldn’t even let me sit with you again? Don’t you think I would’ve sat with him if I wanted him? But I didn’t. I came back. I came back to YOU. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I don’t want him touching you, okay?! That’s not okay with me, Rachel! That makes me feel horrible when he touches you and I —“

“You think I want _ Santana _ touching you?!” She stands up and stomps her foot and all of a sudden I remember that I’m arguing with the _ queen _of dramatics.

“Rachel —“

“No! I saw you! You’re yelling at me for something but it’s the same thing! You might have thought I was sleeping but you did it right in front of me. You held her hand, Quinn. And you liked it. I know you did.”

“You don’t know anything, how could you possibly know that?”

“You looked at her the same way you looked at me when you were kissing me last night,” she walks over to the window and stares out of it even though our view is mostly of the highway and it’s not that great. “Do you know how that makes me feel?” She whispers.

“Rachel…” I call her name softly and follow her over to the window. She plays with the charm on her necklace and holds back a round of fresh tears. “That was nothing. That was…” _ I feel like I’m betraying Santana if I tell her but I don’t tell her then she’ll think I have a thing with Santana when I really don’t… what do I do? _“That was Santana needing a friend. Someone who understands her in a way only I do. It’s nothing. Nothing compared to the way I feel when… when I’m holding your hand.”

She pauses for a minute and it starts to feel like we’re in a movie and I know that it’s probably just because that’s how she is. Dramatic and calculated. Everything she does is done for dramatic effect. After her pause, she slowly turns toward me and our eyes lock. I want to look away because I don’t feel like I’m… worthy of her looking at me like that. But I hold steady because my god her eyes are what coming home feels like.

“I just didn’t know what to say when Finn did that, okay?” she reaches into the empty space between us and grabs onto my hand. “I wanted to tell him not to. I wanted to tell him that he and I couldn’t date anymore or mess around or do whatever it was that we’re doing. I wanted to tell him that I like you now and I’m just trying so hard to roll with it. I wanted to tell him to stop it, Quinn. I really did, but… I got scared,” she shrugs. “Scared of what everyone would think if they knew.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper and tuck a piece of her beautiful brown hair behind her ear. “It’s okay if you need more time. I.. I need more time, too.”

“I’m just not sure what I want,” she whispers, about to let her emotions win and her tears fall. “I used to know exactly what I want and now I don’t know…”

“Hey…” I wipe her tears with my thumb. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I know that I want you, though,” she sniffles. “I want you. But I’m just not sure how to make that work yet.”

“We’ll figure it out together.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nod my head and as soon as I start to tilt my head, she tilts hers too. And it’s like we’re on the same wavelength or something because I was thinking about kissing those beautiful lips the second she started to cry and I think she could sense that.

Our lips brush against each other and when our mouths open, I feel her breathing into my mouth. I’m about to shove my tongue inside of hers, but as soon as it crosses the barrier of my lips, three loud knocks on the door make the both of us freeze dead in our tracks. For a moment I think that we’re just gonna ignore the knocks and continue to kiss, but the knocks come again and we both just pull away. Moment ruined. Again.

“I’ll get it,” she mumbles and jogs to the door while I rummage through my Dunkin’ Donuts bag for the donut holes that I didn’t eat.

I have one glazed donut hole to my lips when I hear Rachel, with her Oscar-winning surprised voice, gasp and say, “I didn’t think you would actually come.”

And I take one measly bite of that donut hole and want to spit it out as soon as I hear what I hear next.

“Oh, of course we came,” I’m not looking but I can tell by the change in pitch of her voice that they are currently embraced in a big hug. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!

...Shelby says.

* * *

* * *

* * *

_“It’s time to let her go now, sweetie,” Mom’s voice is that low gentle type of voice; the voice she only uses whenever she’s trying to comfort me and Frannie without actually comforting us. There’s no hand on my back or no warm hug I’m being pulled into. There’s just her voice, ringing in my ears, telling me what I need to do, while my eyes are completely dry and my head is level. _

_I’m strangely calm, which I didn’t think that I would be. I thought that today I’d be a blubbering, snotty, sweaty, crying mess. But I’m the exact opposite. _

_The nurse let me take a shower today because my stitches looked good I guess, and I washed my hair. I don’t know why, but I thought that I should look nice and decent for today, so I brushed it up into a neat ponytail and wore jeans even though my core is still a little too sore for them. _

_They gave Beth a bath too, actually. I didn’t actually do it myself because I was still groggy from the pain pills they gave me but I did watch and help while the nurse scrubbed her hair. She was content, too. She laid there in the nurse’s arms all wrapped up in her bath towel and kept her eyes closed while we scrubbed away the parts of me that remained on her body. And I got a little sad when I saw the water get all pink and cloudy because that was my blood, you know? It was the last thing she’d have to remember me by and I know she couldn’t stay all bloody and gross like that forever, but I did want her to remember what I felt like. _

“Was it a long drive for you?” Rachel’s voice is a little muffled through the door, but I can still hear her clear enough to make out what she’s saying.

I lean against the door and rub my eyes hard, like maybe if I rub them hard enough all the memories will leave me alone at least until we’re back home in Lima.

“No, actually, we flew,” Shelby’s perfect-pitch voice replies to Rachel and my heart starts to pound. 

It’s loud and fast and heavy and I feel like I’m in one of those old animated cartoons where they actually show an animal’s heart beating outside of their chest. I feel like that. I feel a heaviness inside of my chest. Like someone is sitting on me or something. Back against the bathroom door, I slide down it until I’m sitting on the floor and Jessica taught me that whenever I’m having chest pains like this, that I should put my head between my knees so that’s what I do. I breathe in, breathe out.

But that’s not enough to keep my thoughts at bay.

_I picked out her outfit today. Shelby left a couple hours ago so she could go buy a car seat, but she left a bag with three or four outfits on the rocking chair because she didn’t know which size would fit her tiny but chubby body. She told me that I could pick her going home outfit, and I got a little excited when she said that because it felt like the first real thing I was doing with my baby. _

_After her bath, the nurse gave me a diaper and I put it on her real careful that I didn’t make the straps too tight and she cried when I did that. But the craziest thing is that I picked her up when she cried and held her against my chest. She just had on the diaper and the rest of her was bare but it was like the second I held her and she felt her skin pressed up against mine, she stopped. Like she realized I was her mommy or something. I held her like that for a few minutes and cried because I suddenly remembered that picking out her outfit to go home in was probably the first and only real thing I was ever going to do with her. _

_I put her inside the black and white polka dotted sleeper and did all the buttons gentle. And it seemed like it was only a few short minutes that I got to hold her like that, but it must have been about an hour because suddenly Shelby was back and I was being discharged. _

“Yeah, me and my girlfriend decided to make it into something like a mini vacation. She and her husband live out this way and she claims that Hershey Park is a real treat around Halloween. So we flew into Philadelphia and just drove here. We’re actually staying in the hotel across the street.” I hear Shelby continuing on about the travel here as I take my head from between my knees and eyeball the sink.

I need to get up and splash down water on my face so I can try to calm down, but I feel like I can’t move. I feel like I’m stuck here sitting on the cold tile bathroom floor with my heart beating out of my chest and my ears feeling all hot and tingly. I can’t breathe, either. It’s like someone handed me a straw and told me to breathe through that straw and I’m sucking in some air, but it’s not enough air and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

“So you brought Beth?” Rachel asks the question that I’ve been dying to know the answer to, but not really wanting to know the answer to. _Please say no. Please say you didn’t… _

“I did,” Shelby says and I can tell she’s probably nodding her head out there. _Oh no… _“She’s back at the hotel with my friend. I didn’t want to just pop up with her, you know.” She kind of whispers that last part, probably because she knows I’m inside the bathroom and she’s trying to keep me from hearing her but it’s too late. I already heard it.

_Beth is here…? She’s here… _

_I stand up from the wheelchair the nurse rolled me outside in, sure to keep my arm level so I can support her head. Shelby walked beside us the entire way through the hospital, into the elevator and through the lobby. She stands beside me just staring down at Beth, wanting to take her but not really knowing how to. My mom glances at the adoption counselor and makes a face, so the adoption counselor takes one step toward me. _

_“Quinn,” she starts. “Remember what we talked about? About how there’s a remarkable hello inside the hospital room?” _

_“Mhm,” I nod. I do remember. The nurse on duty tried to let Beth sleep inside my room the night she was born but I refused. She wheeled that plastic cradle right beside my bed and I looked at her and told her to take Beth to the nursery to sleep because I didn’t want to sleep beside her. That would have been entirely too much for me to handle. _

_They sent the adoption counselor to my room after that, which kind of made me mad. She came up into my room, sat down on the edge of my bed and started explaining to me about how holding and bonding with my baby is a remarkable chance to say hello before I have to say my goodbyes. I’ll be honest when I say that the whole experience just made me cry a whole lot, but I know it’s just because I’m hormonal because I also wanted to kick her off the side of my bed, so. _

_“Well now is the time for that goodbye we talked about. It’s time for the hand-off, okay?” She keeps talking but it’s almost like I can’t hear her or something. Nothing she is saying is actually registering to me. _

_“Okay,” I mumble, still staring at Beth, still holding her the way the nurses showed me how. Her tiny little pink lip is poked out while she sleeps, and her hands are up by her face. She sleeps like me. I sleep just like that. She really is mine. She’s my baby… _

_“Quinnie, it’s time to let her go now,” Mom finally puts her hand in the middle of my back and rubs. “It’s not goodbye, though. She’s just not going home with us, that’s all.” _

_“Yeah,” I mumble again. Oh my goodness, she’s so perfect. How did I make something so perfect? Her skin is so smooth, her complexion is so even. Her hair is silky and her cheeks are so chubby. And her nose is whistling, just like mine does when I’m asleep. She’s mine… she came from me. She belongs to me. _

_I can’t believe Puck is missing this. I can’t believe he’s missing her. He said that he supports me for wanting to do this, but also isn’t strong enough to watch it all go down and he said his goodbyes to her yesterday but I can’t believe he’s missing this. He should see her in the daylight. She’s so much more beautiful in the sun. Something about those fluorescent hospital lights just doesn’t do her any justice. _

_“It’s time, Quinn,” the counselor says again, but this time she actually wraps her arms around my baby. I mean she did it gently, but I’ll still KILL her… I don’t think she understands that I will kill her. I snatch my baby away from her because how dare she try to take her from me? _

“You can definitely come over to my hotel after the competition later if you want to see her,” Shelby tells Rachel. “Or I could bring her here if that ends up being okay with Puck and Quinn.”

Suddenly, my entire body gets hot. And beads of sweat form at the temple of my head. My body is burning up, like it’s trying to boil the contents of my stomach, so I spring up off the floor and stop leaning against the door that leads to Santana and Brittany’s room. And I think that I’m headed for the toilet because I really have to throw up, I feel it rising up inside of me and making me more and more nauseous as the time goes by. But my legs don’t take me to the toilet.

My hand reaches for the doorknob that leads to me and Rachel’s room and before I can stop it, I’m turning the knob and yanking it open.

Rachel sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed and she looks up at Shelby, standing beside her and lightly brushing her bangs back like any mother would do for their child. They both startle and look at me when I open the door, though.

“Can you go get her?” My hand is shaking like a leaf on a tree when a gust of wind blows and I feel like I have so much of everything built up inside of me that I’m busting open at the seams. “P-Please?” _I’m desperate…. I’m so desperate. And I’m about to start crying so everybody just ignore that, thanks. _

“Hi, Quinn,” she smiles at me like she’s extending some sort of olive branch and stops stroking Rachel’s hair. “I wanted to talk to you earlier but you ran into the bathroom so quickly… are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I just… I wanna see her? If that’s… possible?” Jessica would kill me if she could see me now, but I can’t help the way my thumb goes up to my mouth and I start to chew on my nail. “Please.”

“I can definitely go and get her, if that’s what you want,” she picks her keys up off the dresser she set them on, then pauses. “Only if that’s what you want, though.”

“I want to see her,” I nod my head so fast and it’s like I have no control over my body anymore. _What am I doing? What am I agreeing to? I want to say no! Say no! I don’t want to see Beth! I don’t want to see how well she’s doing without me as her mother! What am I doing?! _“I’m sure I want to.”

“Okay,” she pulls her jacket over her arms. “What time are you guys going to start rehearsing?”

“Probably around two,” Rachel stands up and hands Shelby her phone so she doesn’t forget it lying on the bed. “The competition starts at five, so we’ll probably be rehearsing around two.”

“Great,” Shelby heads for the door. “That gives me about fifteen minutes to get her ready. I’ll be right back. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Just knock when you get back, we’ll probably still be in here,” Rachel follows her to the door and locks it behind her and I just… sit.

I sit down on the bed. And think about what the hell I just did…

_I’m not ready for this… why did I do this to myself? _

_The last time I saw her, everything got so twisted after. Karofsky died and I threw up so much that I made myself bleed. Then everybody found out about me and my summer and I skipped school, which I never do. Then me and mom got into a fight and I left. And I know all of this isn’t Beth’s fault, but all of that happened since the last time I saw her and I’m just a bit weaker now. I wasn’t ever strong enough to handle it but I’m definitely not strong enough now… _

_And Puck’s here. He’s going to want to hold her and love on her and kiss her the same way I do. And I can’t tell him no, can I? I can’t… tell him not to touch her, I can’t scream and tell him to get away from her. I’m going to have to watch him hold her… and kiss her… and touch her… I’m going to have to look at my sweet baby and… and what? Know that I hate her father so much that it makes me sick? And have her trust that I don’t hate her, too? But how is that possible? How can I hate him and not her? She’s part of him… the same way she’s part of me. This is all too much. I need… I need Bailey but she’s not here. I’m scared. I’m scared of what I might say or do when I see him holding her… I’m so scared. _

_What did I just do… _

“Why did you do this to me?” I croak, voice cloudy with the tears that haven’t fallen yet. My voice is empty. Like it came from a shell of who I used to be. There’s no emotion behind it, but I’m still talking. Rachel turns and looks at me like she’s afraid.

“What?” she asks, keeping her distance.

“...Me,” I croak again, but then my eyes flicker up so I can look at her and that’s when the tears start falling. “Why did you do this to me? Why did you invite her here?”

“Quinn…” she walks over to me, but I turn away from her and put my hands over my eyes while the sobs start to rock my body. She steps away like she just watched me take a bad fall or something. Like… like she’s scared of me breaking down. And guilty. “Quinn, I’m sorry…” she puts her hand on my arm but I swat her away.

“Don’t touch me,” I whisper.

“I’m sorry,” she stands a few feet away from me and holds her breath.

“You shoulda warned me,” I sniff and wipe away my tears. _I know she’s sorry… but still… I can’t help myself. I can’t help how… how… angry I feel. _“You never think about anybody except yourself, Rachel! Never! You didn’t think that maybe you should tell me?! That you invited her?! Knowing that she was going to bring my… my _baby _?! You’re so selfish! You don’t think about anyone else!” 

“I didn’t think she was actually going to come! I didn’t think she would drive like eight hours away just for sectionals! If it was nationals then yeah I could’ve guessed, but it’s just sectionals and I didn’t actually think… Quinn, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be!” I stomp past her and my shoulder accidentally hits hers pretty hard, but I don’t bother apologizing. I just keep heading for the door because I need to talk to Mercedes. Right now, she’s the only one who could make me think rationally and possibly calm me down.

“Quinn, wait!” She calls after me and just by her voice, I can tell that she is either bawling her eyes out crying or about to be. “You can’t be mad at me, please don’t be mad at me!”

“This is my life that you’re messing with, Rachel! Messing with my heart is one thing but you’re playing with fire now! This isn’t some little thing you do and then laugh it off as a stupid mistake because you didn’t think she’d actually come! You should have told me! Let me prepare myself! You don’t understand…”

“I do understand! Maybe not totally, but I do understand! You don’t think I felt the same way?” She sits down on the bed and cries just as hard as I was a minute ago and usually that softens me up when it comes to her because I CAN’T take the sound and sight of her crying. Rachel crying activates something inside of me, something animalistic. But it’s not really working this time…

“What do you mean you felt the same way?” I step away from the door and try to disperse my anger but I’m pretty unsuccessful at it.

“When she showed up!” She wraps her arms around her chest like she’s giving herself a hug and starts to settle down but she’s still crying pretty hard. “I felt… ambushed. She didn’t even tell me she was coming. I sent her a text last week telling her that sectionals were in Hershey, at the venue is Hershey Theater and they started at five and she texted back a thumbs up. That’s it. Nothing else. I didn’t know she was going to come. She was the _last _person I expected to see when I opened the door. And I needed… I needed Finn,” she snivels.

“Finn?” I raise my eyebrow.

“He always calms me down with things like this, he always knows what to say. But I couldn’t even talk to him because everything’s changed. Everything is different. I kissed you the night of Puck’s party and my entire _life _has changed ever since. And all you’ve been doing lately is yelling at me when I’m trying! I’m trying to figure this out! I have to be… gay enough for you, but straight enough that nobody figures it out. I have to be exclusively yours but Finn’s been my best friend since last year. My head is SO mixed up and you just… don’t make it any better,” she sniffs again and wipes her face. “You say I’m selfish and maybe I am… but you’re pretty selfish, too.”

_Wow… _

I step completely away from the door and feel the tension in my shoulders melt completely away. I’m putting down my armor. I’m throwing in the towel. I’m waving the white flag. I surrender. And I’m retreating.

_Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am too caught up in myself and my own emotional turmoil that I just don’t think about hers, too. I don’t know much about what she’s going through because we don’t exactly open up to each other like that, but it must be pretty scary for her to have her entire life upended. It must really be rocking her world to know that she wasn’t the one thing she always thought she was. She went through seventeen years of her life thinking she was exclusively straight and Finn was her boyfriend. Then I came along and showed her something new. And now… her life is completely different and she is not what she always thought she would be. And that’s all because of me. That is all entirely my fault. I ruined her life. That was me… I ruin everything… _

“...I didn’t mean that you can’t talk to Finn,” I sit down beside her and try to hold her hand but she pulls it away. “I’m… I’m really sorry if I made you feel like you can’t talk to your best friend. I… I would lose my mind if you told me I couldn’t talk to Mercedes.”

“I would never say that to you because I don’t want to control you,” she rolls her eyes.

“I…” I sigh. I want to say that I don’t want to control her either but the truth is… the truth is that I kind of do. Or at least I did. When she was talking to Finn and I heard Finn call her pet names like that. I did want to say that she wasn’t allowed to talk to him. I did want to erase all their history and control her. “I’m sorry. I just… don’t know how to feel sometimes.”

“I get that, but you keep lashing out at me and I don’t want to hurt you, Quinn. I’m not trying to be your enemy but you’re making it really, really hard to believe that this — whatever it is between us — isn’t doomed. We’re just two different people.”

“What are you trying to say?” I hold my breath and that pounding feeling inside of my chest has officially come back. “Rachel? What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that,” she looks up to the ceiling and sighs. “I’m saying that I can’t keep doing this. This back and forth. This one day you hate me and the next I’m everything you wanted. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Is this your idea of breaking up with me?”

“This is my idea of telling you that I don’t want to do this with you anymore. I love that we’re getting closer and that somehow we became some kind of friends, but doing this… this… semi-relationship thing…? It’s just too much.”

“Don’t worry,” I feel tears prick the corners of my eyes but I keep them in. I stand up from the bed and look down at her. “Once we get back to Lima, I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

“Quinn, stop. That’s not what I mean, I —“

“No, I get it. I make your life too hard and you don’t want me to do that anymore. I got it.”

“Quinn!”

I don’t turn back this time. I just walk right out of the door and head for Mercedes and Tina’s room.


	35. Magical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things before you guys dive into this chapter:
> 
> 1\. If you didn't get my note before the thing I posted yesterday, just make sure you read chapter 34 because I added another part to the end of it which will leave you a little confused for this chapter if you didn't read it.
> 
> 2\. Without giving too much away, this chapter is the chapter where they perform at sectionals and if you're not a huge Disney nerd like me, I just want to suggest that you listen to the songs they perform because I'm not the greatest at describing the performance aspects. Three of the songs were easier to describe who was singing and how they were singing it, but the one song that Quinn and Brittany end up dancing to is really hard because there's no lyrics so I just suggest listening to it so you can understand what the hell I was getting at while writing their section. It's called Trashin' The Camp and it's from the Tarzan movie.

* * *

* * *

"_And we'll linger on… t-time can't erase a feeling this strong…" I sing loud enough for her to hear me, but quiet enough that nobody else can. This usually works. I usually only have to sing it twice before she calms down and stops hurting me._

_I was in the shower and I was washing my hair the first time it ever happened. I was standing there rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, and then I felt her move. She moved and then all of a sudden, something sharp and shooting hit me in the middle of my back._

_It hurt so bad that I couldn't stand up anymore, so I turned the shower water off and crawled into my bedroom. I thought it would just come and go because that happens sometimes. My body is changing a whole lot and sometimes things just ache and I don't know why. So laid down on my bed, still dripping wet and in my towel, and I waited for it to go away so I could stand up and get dressed. But it didn't go away. It just kept coming and coming and I think after years of being a Cheerio, I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but I couldn't take that kind of pain. I started to cry so hard and so loud that Mercedes heard me in her bedroom and came in to check on me._

_I don't know how I managed to talk, but I did and I told her that my back and my stomach were both hurting really bad. She immediately ran down the hall and told her mom that I was crying and in a lot of pain. I was only six months at the time, which made me even more scared because I knew that those pains had to mean something serious._

_Mrs. Jones came in and put her hand against my forehead and talked me through calming down long enough to get dressed. She got me to the hospital pretty quickly and everybody there kinda treated me like I was in labor, which scared me even more because I thought I still had a few more months to prepare myself for it._

_The doctor said it's something called "Braxton Hicks", and I have to get through it on my own because there's nothing he can give me to help ease the pain since it's not real labor. I'm seven months now, and it doesn't happen that often, but I've adopted my own technique for fixing it when it does. And it involves a lot of singing._

"_No way… never gonna… shake me…" I grind my teeth together and roll over onto my back to see if maybe that will make her move away from my right side. "You'll always be my baby…"_

_The lime green numbers on the alarm clock beside my bed change to read _ _ **12:52 ** _ _and that means another minute has gone by and that means I've lost another minute of sleep. I have school tomorrow, little baby. Please let me get some sleep. I'm begging. Just get comfortable inside me so these pains will stop and I can get some sleep. Please, little baby. I'm begging you. This is the third time in a row I've sung to you._

"_We were as one… for a moment in time…" I start the song all over again and this time, I try coupling it with some rubs. Sometimes I can coax her into moving to the other side, and if she gets off my bladder and stops pressing against my uterus, the pains stop. She just has to move and she will not budge and I'm getting frustrated with her. She's so stubborn. Like me, probably. "Everlasting… you will always be mine…"_

_She's slow about it, but she does start to move when I rub her. She shifts over to my left side a little more._

"_In my heart… always be mine…" I take a deep breath as the most recent sharp pain crosses my lower stomach. "You'll always be a part of me…" I sing the chorus a little louder because that's her favorite part. She always gets really still when I sing the chorus. "I'm part of you indefinitely. Don't you know you can't escape me? Darling… you'll always be my baby…"_

_Oh, it's easing. Thank you god, it's easing. Now move your foot, little baby. Move your foot so I can sleep..._

"A Disney medley... That's a bold move," Shelby leans against the dresser and gives all her attention to Mr. Schue instead of looking at me and Rachel, sitting on the bed with my baby. "The other groups are probably going super mainstream, the judges will be excited to see something different."

"Yeah, it took me a week to convince the kids to get on board with it but now I think they're actually excited about it. I think it's bringing back their inner child," Mr. Schue replies.

She was back in less than fifteen minutes and I only know this because I didn't have time to go see Mercedes and Tina before she came back.

It was more like ten minutes, and I saw her come in through the front doors as I was walking down the hallway to get to Tina and Mercedes' room. I thought that maybe I would just go into their room, let Mercedes talk me down and get my head back on straight. I thought that she would calm me down, tell me how to apologize to Rachel, and I'd have enough time to pull myself together and get into a good mental space in order to see Beth.

I was halfway to their room and running through what I was going to tell them about me and Rachel's fight in my head when I heard the automatic doors slide open. There's at least five dozen people staying in this hotel with us, so I knew that it could have been anybody coming through those doors, but something deep inside of me told me to glance over my shoulder when I heard them open, and I'm glad that I did. I didn't really get a good look at her as Shelby was walking into the lobby, because I turned around and ran as fast as I could, barefoot, back down the opposite end of the hallway to me and Rachel's room.

Rachel was still sitting on the bed where I left her and when I opened the door and rushed back inside, she looked surprised to see me. And I guess she probably was, because I didn't exactly leave the room on great terms with her. I don't know why, but I grabbed my hairbrush and started fixing my hair. I wanted to give Rachel the silent treatment because really, I didn't have anything else to say to her after our fight. But I thought she deserved the same warning I got by seeing them, so as I yanked my hair up into a neat ponytail, I told her that Shelby was back.

She had the same idea as me. She picked up her hairbrush and fixed her already perfect hair. The two of us had just finished straightening up the already clean room when Shelby knocked on the door. Me and Rachel looked at each other like we didn't know what to do with it. Suddenly, answering the door was some sort of great talent that neither of us possessed. We stared at each other for a few more moments, puzzled and dazed, halfway between wanting to hate each other some more and wanting to embrace each other for the strength we both needed.

Shelby knocked on the door again while the two of us figured it out and we didn't have to say a word to each other to agree that we would answer it together. I don't know what it means — if it means anything at all — but I offered Rachel my hand and she took it without even looking at me. I don't think that means we're back together or whatever we can call it for this unofficial relationship that we're in, but I do think it means that we need each other too much to be mad anymore. Hand in hand, we took the door together. I'm the one who actually turned the knob to let them inside, but I wouldn't have been able to do that without her holding my hand.

She's bigger than the last time I saw her.

I know everyone says that babies grow up fast and whatever, but I'm still trying to figure out how that could be. It wasn't that long ago that me and Mercedes saw her in JC Penney, but she looks so much bigger than she did then and I can't stop staring at her. Her blonde curls have gotten even longer on top and they've started to fill in a bit on the sides, too. Her cheeks are chubbier and so are her arms and legs. She watches Rachel move a stuffed duck across the carpet with her chubby hands resting on her plump belly, and I just want to kiss her. God, I want to kiss her. I want to scoop her up and kiss her and tell her that we're going to run away from here, just me and her.

But I can't do anything except sit across the floor and take in her existence.

She likes Rachel, that much I can tell. She's been sitting on the bed with us, between Rachel's legs for the past five minutes and she hasn't cried or whined not even once. Every now and again, her tiny toes curl in her tiny brown socks but for the most part, she just watches that damn duck like it's the greatest thing in the world.

"Quack Quack Quack Quack," Rachel moves the duck back and forth and I watch Beth's face just to see if maybe this is something that she likes. Her ice blue eyes are locked on the duck and a shiny dribble of slobber drips down onto the quilt because her little mouth gaped open.

She reaches for the duck and Rachel lets her have it, so she brings the orange beak up to her mouth and starts to suck on it. After a moment, Rachel puts her hand back out in front of her and says, "Can sissy have it? Can you share? Can sissy see TuckTuck?"

"TuckTuck…?" I ask, my eyes never leaving Beth.

"Yep," Rachel nods her head. "His name is TuckTuck. TuckTuck the DuckDuck. He's her favorite."

"Her favorite," I mutter and it doesn't hurt any less to say it than it did to hear it. _She has a favorite duck and I didn't even know it…_

Beth lays TuckTuck with the wet beak in the palm of Rachel's hand, then looks at her as if she's waiting for Rachel to tell her that she did what she wanted her to do. That makes me grin.

_I want to hold her but I don't want to make her cry. I want to take her into my arms and hold her against my chest and let her suck on her favorite little duck while I keep her close to me. Will I ever be able to do that? Will there ever be a time where I can hold her without making her cry? Will she ever get used to me?_

"Yay!" Rachel exclaims and starts clapping her hands together very lightly. "Yay for Bethy! You shared with me! Good job!"

Beth smacks her hands together while looking at Rachel and starts blowing air from her nostrils, like she's trying to start laughing or something. When she opens her mouth like she's grinning, my heart feels like it's melting. No, seriously. It feels like my heart is liquid and it's slipping down into my bloodstream and traveling all over my body instead of just residing in my chest. It's overwhelming, it makes me feel like the room is shaking and I have to cry but no tears will come out.

"You wanna try holding her?" Rachel hands her the duck again and looks up at me. "It's okay if you don't."

"I do," I nod my head frantically. "But I don't wanna make her cry. She's gonna cry, she's… she's… she doesn't…"

"She won't cry, watch," Rachel hands the duck over to me and when I take it, I make sure that I touch the beak that she drooled and gnawed all over. Maybe it's a little bit gross, but I want to be as close to her as possible and I don't know why it makes me do stupid things like that. "You wanna go see Quinn?" she leans forward and asks Beth. "Look, Quinn has TuckTuck. You wanna go see her?"

I hold onto the duck but put it down on the bed where there's a little bit of empty space between where I'm sitting and where Rachel is sitting. "You can come to me," I make my voice as soft as possible but it's nothing compared to the way Rachel sounds and Shelby sounds when they're dealing with her. _They're so much better with her than me… _"I'm not gonna hurt you…"

"Put your arms out," Rachel says and puts her arms out in front of her with her palms outstretched and open, like she's demonstrating. "Like this. Then wiggle your fingers like you're telling her to come here."

I feel stupid, but she clearly knows my own child better than I do, so I do it anyway. I stretch my arms out in front of me and make two solid "come here" motions with my hands. Beth looks at the duck then looks at me and makes a soft little grunting noise with her mouth. _This isn't going to work. She's not going to come to me. She doesn't know me. She'll never come to me. _And it's like a cold dose of blind hope the way I keep my arms out, praying that she'll realize I'm not a complete stranger and come to me. I'm about to go to the bathroom so I can cry in peace, and as soon as I start to put my arms down so I can get off the bed and do that… Beth's arms slowly start to raise. And her tiny little body leans in my direction.

"There you go," Rachel's smile is almost as big as the way my heart feels… "You can take her now. Just grab her."

"I don't… I'm not… I mean…" My eyes start to ache a little bit as I feel the tears starting at the back and working their way to the front of my eyeball. _She actually reached for me… _"I don't know…" I shake my head and the tears finally start rolling down.

Rachel doesn't make a big deal about them, though. She just puts her hands underneath Beth's armpits and nudges her closer to me. "Take her. She wants you to hold her, see?"

I place my hands where Rachel's were, up underneath her armpits, and lift her up off the bed. And to my surprise, she really doesn't start crying. But I'm making up for whatever crying she should be doing right now. I'm a crying mess. Tears are everywhere and I can't stop them from falling. I'm not crying because I'm sad, which is an entirely new feeling. I'm crying because my body doesn't know what else to do. Every emotion is flooding me and I don't know what else to do. I'm sorry for being mean to Rachel and I'm sorry for being mad at her about Finn and I'm sorry that I can't make Santana feel better and I'm sorry for ruining everyone's lives and I'm sorry I'm not a better person and I'm sorry I kept drinking and I'm sorry that Puck raped me and I'm sorry for everything I did and sorry for giving her up for adoption and sorry that I didn't actually kill myself. I'm just so sorry for everything… nothing is ever going to get better… and I'm just so sorry that things have to be this way…

"Hi…" I whisper to her through all my thick, crocodile tears. "You remember me? You just saw me a couple weeks ago… you look so much bigger…"

She is perfectly fine with me holding her. Perfectly. She's not crying, she's just got her lips wrapped around the beak of her TuckTuck and she is as content as any baby could be. _Maybe she does remember me from JCPenney… _She takes the duck out of her mouth and studies it for a second, so I take the opportunity to bring her a little closer and turn her so that she's facing me.

"You look like your grandma," I brush her unruly little curls away from her gorgeous face so I can get a better look at her. "Yeah, you have her eyes. Grandma has those blue eyes. And Auntie has your eyebrows… you're so pretty. You are. You're so pretty…" I sniff back a new round of tears and keep them from falling, but then Beth does something that completely breaks me wide open.

With the duck's beak in her mouth, she presses her forehead up against mine and I can't. I just… I can't do it anymore. I was trying to be strong and trying to keep control of myself so I don't freak her out with the whole crying and stuff, but I can't. Our noses are touching and I can feel her hot baby breath against my face and her heart beating beneath my palms and her body breathing against my chest and I don't know where it comes from, but a really low groan slips through my lips as I start to sob.

"Quinn…" Rachel whispers and it's only when she does that do I remember that there are other people in this room besides me and Beth. Other people watching me cry. "I'm… I'm gonna call Mercedes, okay?"

"She looks like me," I choke on the words as they come out because I'm trying to cry and talk at the same time and it's not mixing. "I don't understand. How can you love somebody this much?"

Rachel gets off the bed to grab the box of tissues off the end table and when the bed sheets rustle, Beth takes her forehead away from mine so she can investigate where the noise came from. And she must think Rachel is getting up and leaving or something, because she looks at her and starts to whine.

And I didn't think I had it in me, okay? I really didn't. I thought that the second I signed those papers and that woman took my baby off of me, it all went away. I mean, I'm not a mother anymore. I don't have a baby to physically take care of, I'm not a mother. So how could I have motherly instincts if I'm not a mother? I didn't think I had it in me.

But when she starts whining, it feels like someone reached down my throat and flipped a switch inside of my body and I don't have to think about how to comfort her. I don't have to think about whether rocking her would be better or if bouncing her would be better. I don't have to think about if I should rub her cheek or rub her back instead of patting her butt. She's my child and I don't have to think about how to do it. It's just inside of me and it was lying dormant all this time.

She whines and I put my lips against her chubby, warm little cheek.

"Shh, it's okay… it's okay…" I whisper to her as I start bouncing her up and down.

She's upset now, and she made up her mind that Rachel is who she wants. Even as Rachel sits back down with the tissues, she still looks at her and whines, a little louder each time. But I'm not all panicky and stuff like I thought I might be. Her crying doesn't really bother me in the way I thought it would. Because I know how to fix it. Somewhere deep down, I know how to fix it.

"You'll always be a part of me… I'm part of you indefinitely…" I start to sing to her, still bouncing her up and down. "Don't you know you can't escape me? You'll always be my baby… and we'll linger on… time can't erase a feeling this strong… You're never gonna shake me… you'll always be my baby…"

It's like a scene ripped straight out of a movie, because it's the kind of quiet that only happens in a movie. The moment before the dramatic music starts playing and makes everybody in the theater start to tear up. And the camera pans to Rachel, Mr. Schue and Shelby. Because their eyes are all stuck to me, sitting in the middle of the bed with Beth in my arms, completely calm and staring at me like she just realized who I am. It's a moment that isn't lost on anybody sharing it with us.

_Yes, little baby. It's me. You remember me now? Do you feel it now? You know who I am… you've known me for a long time…_

"You sing that to her often?" Mr. Schue asks Shelby, quiet enough so that it's only between them but I could still hear him because it's just that quiet in the room.

"No…" Shelby whispers back. "Never."

She looks at me with a new sense of familiarity and if she could talk, I swear she'd say "hey… I know you!" I don't think she knows how… but I think she can feel it because I can feel it too.

In fact, I know she can feel it. Because she puts her hand against my mouth and flashes me a drippy, toothless grin when I kiss it…

* * *

"She's so cute," Mercedes is absolutely gushing over her and has been for the past eight minutes. I'm beginning to think that she wants my baby, but that's just too bad for her because she can't have her. "Hi, little Beth."

"She looks just like you Quinn!" Tina sits down beside us on the bed and touches Beth's hand. "This is so crazy… she's like a miniature you…"

"I know," I'm smiling. After all the tears, I'm actually… happy right now, and I don't want to jinx it, but I am. Beth is still content with me. She's been sitting in my lap this whole time and every so often, she'll look back at me like she's making sure I'm still there and haven't gone anywhere. And everyone is saying how cute she is and how much she looks like me and I don't know much, but I think this must be what a proud mother feels like.

"Is she coming to the show?" Tina asks, question more directed at Shelby than anything. "We're doing Disney songs so maybe she'll like it."

"Yeah!" Mercedes looks at Shelby too. "You should totally bring her!"

"I dunno girls," Shelby sits down on my bed since Rachel's is too full. "I don't think she'd do very well with the whole sitting still and being quiet and stuff. And I don't want to scare her with the whole production thing…"

"Oh, come on!" Rachel sits up. "You can totally bring her! She doesn't have to sit still, she can be up and dancing or something and if there's ever a time that you don't have to be quiet in a theater it's definitely during a show choir competition. You should totally bring her!"

"We're doing Moana and Tarzan and Aladdin and Hercules, and she'd totally love it," Tina keeps trying to sell it. "Even if she just stays for our performance. She can be like… our little mascot or something."

"Come on, Miss Corcoran. You can bring her," Mercedes uses her best begging voice. "Quinn has this really special part during Trashin' The Camp. It'll be really cool if she could see it."

"Oh, a special part?" Shelby raises her eyebrows when she looks at me.

"It's just a dance break. Me and Brittany have this thing…" I mumble and look down, uncurling one of Beth's curls with my fingers.

"Well in that case…" she looks at all of us then at Beth, then she smiles. "Alright, we'll both be there."

"Yay!" Rachel does her baby voice and claps again, accomplished when Beth mimics her with her baby claps once more. "Say 'Yay', Bethy!"

_Now I definitely can't mess up. I know Beth doesn't really know the difference, but if Shelby gets a seat close enough for Beth to actually see me up there on the stage, then I can't mess up. I just can't. It's the first time she's actually going to see me perform. She's been with me, inside of me, for a few dozen performances but she's never actually seen me perform. I can't mess up. I can't. I have to be perfect if she's going to be there._

Rachel gets up to answer the door when we hear somebody knocking at it, but I know it's just Mr. Schue coming back and telling us that it's time to start rehearsing, so I just ignore it because I'm not ready for Beth to leave yet. I mean I guess I should let her go, because I need all the rehearsal time I can get now that I know she'll be in the audience, but what if I never get this moment back? My baby remembers me now. She looked at me and touched my face when I started singing our special song, so I know she does. She hasn't cried because of me holding her at all today, and she keeps looking at me like she cares that I'm nearby. She's my baby… I can't just let her go. What if I never get this moment back? What if next time I hold her, she forgets me again? I know I can just sing our special song and maybe that'll bring her back to me, but what if it doesn't? What if this is the only moment I get with her?

"Hi Noah," I hear Shelby day and that completely rips me out of my thoughts.

Eyebrows wrinkled, I look up at the door and sure enough, Puck and Finn are both barreling through it. _Who told them she was here? Who told him to come down here? _My arms tighten around Beth like they're activated by instinct. I know he's about to waltz right in here, claiming that he has rights to see her or whatever, and I'm ready for whatever he throws at me. I pull Beth a little closer to my body, arms locked around her body and senses on high alert. _I won't let him hurt you…_

"My turn," he's smug the way he says that. He kneels down on the floor in front of us and holds his arms out as if I'm actually going to just _willingly _put my baby into them. _Yeah right. He's out of his fucking mind._

"Go away," I turn my back toward him and take Beth with me. "It's my time with her."

"You've had her for how long?" He stands up and walks around the bed so that he's in our line of vision again. "It's my turn now, come on."

"It doesn't matter how long I've had her, it's my time with her." I feel the flame of my anger reignite down in the pit of my stomach.

"She's my kid, too," he reaches for her and I feel like I'm going to rip his arms off his body and shove them up his ass. _Get away from me… I'm serious. _"Come on, look. She's really into me, let me show you. She really digs me. Let me hold her."

"No," I clench my jaw. "I said go away."

"Quinn —" Rachel puts her arm on my shoulder because I think she can sense that I'm getting a little angrier than is physically healthy. _She's trying to calm me down. Even after she broke up with me or whatever, she's still trying to calm me down. Maybe she still cares…_

Still, I shrug her hand off my shoulder. "Stop, I'm fine," I say but I'm lying because I'm really not fine at all. I'm so angry that I'm probably going to hurt him if he doesn't get away from me and my baby.

"She's my kid too, come on! She likes me, I'll show you." He's gentle with the way he grabs Beth and takes her out of my arms, and I want to grab her back and get into a nasty battle of tug of war with him, but I… I…

"_It's time, Quinn," the counselor says again, but this time she actually wraps her arms around my baby. I mean she did it gently, but I'll still KILL her… I don't think she understands that I will kill her. I snatch my baby away from her because how dare she try to take her from me?_

"_Quinnie," Mom tries her hand at comforting me but she doesn't need to comfort me because I swear to god, I'm already calm. I'm fine. I just don't need some stupid adoption counselor that I just met trying to take my baby away from me for no reason. "You signed the papers, honey. You have to let her go now."_

"_It's time to let her go…" The counselor says again and this time, she's kind of forceful with the way she wraps her hands around my baby..._

"_No, stop! Stop!" Something inside of me just… snapped. She takes my baby out of my arms and I feel so empty and bare and weak and like nothing in this world is right. She's not inside of me anymore and I'm empty and she's not in my arms anymore and I'm bare and she just took her from me! You can't just take her! "Stop, give me my baby! Don't take my baby! Mom… mommy… mommy, she can't… she can't…"_

"_Quinnie, I know," Mom wraps her arms around me. "It's time to be strong now, okay? It's time to be strong."_

"_I want her! Give her to me! You can't take her! You can't just take her! I'm her mom! I need her! Mom, get her back! Get her back! You can fix it! You can fix this, can't you?!"_

"_Quinn, I —"_

"_No, I want her!" I rip out of my mom's arms and start to run across the parking lot, but she grabs my jacket by the hood and pulls me back. "Stop it!" She's trying to contain me like some kind of feral animal but she can't. "Let me go! Mom, let me go!" Finally I crumble into a ball on the ground and watch… watch as they get further and further away with my child..._

"_Sweetheart," Mom cradles my face in her hands gently, like I'm glass and I might break. "Look at me… look at me. Don't look over there, look at me."_

"_But Mom…" My eyes are fixated on Shelby, walking across the parking lot and to her car with my girl in her arms. "Mommy…"_

"_You remember what you told me? Lucy, listen to me. Look at me. Remember what you told me? This is for the best… this is for her… I know it hurts but this is for her… it's all for Beth, okay?"_

"_Okay…" I nod my head, still choking on my sobs. "Okay…"_

Puck takes her from my arms and I feel so empty and bare and weak and like nothing in this world is right. But I'm not just going to sit back and let him take my baby. This isn't going to happen again.

"She's mine! She is NOTHING to you, nothing at all. You got it?! She's mine, not yours. You don't get to take everything from me and then walk in here like I owe you something! You give her back! Give her back, goddammit or I swear to god I will hurt you! I will hurt you, Puck, I swear I will! I will —"

"Quinn, don't do this," Mercedes grabs me by my arms and tries to calm me down. "Not right now. Okay? We have sectionals to think about."

"He can't just take her away from me! He's taken enough! Mercedes, stop!" I rip away from her the same way I ripped away from my mother a year ago. "He can't just take her…"

"She's way overreacting," Puck's all gentle with the way he's holding her, but he's stepping away from me like he's never going to give her back. "How long has she been here? She's had her all this time and she gets all crazy whenever I want to hold her."

"You best shut your mouth because if I let her lose, she will hurt you," Mercedes snaps at him.

"Guys, this is enough!" Shelby springs up off the bed and rushes over to take Beth, who still isn't really crying but I feel like she might if we keep yelling and that right there is enough to make me want to calm down. "You can't fight over her. She's my daughter and I have to do what's best for her and it's not best for her to see you two fighting like this over who gets to hold her or not. I… I can see this was a bad idea. And we'd better get going anyway because you all need to practice."

"Wait…" I take a step toward Shelby. _Maybe she should know, too. So that way she knows why I get so… crazy around him. And maybe she can adjust how she handles him being around her. She… she should know… I should tell her… _

"Don't worry, we'll still be at the show," she cradles Beth's head into her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"It's… it's okay, Quinn. It's okay. It's a lot of emotions, I know." And that's the last thing she says to me before she and my child are out the door.

* * *

Shelby was right, it was a bad idea for me to see Beth right before we have to perform.

My mind is all fuzzy and hazy and all I keep thinking about is the way her body felt against my chest and the way her hand was pressed against my mouth when I sang Mariah Carey. I just keep thinking about the way everything in the world felt like it was all perfectly aligned and the universe was as it should be. I felt complete when Beth was in my arms, I felt whole. And now that she's gone and not with me anymore, she left an emptiness inside of me that I don't know how to fill. It's like I'm walking around in the middle of a thick, dense fog. I can't see anything unless it's right in front of me, demanding my attention. And I can't think about anything else except for her, and I can't regret anything more than the way I acted when Puck started to hold her.

I'm here. I'm backstage, standing beside Mercedes and Tina. I'm stretching like everybody else is. I'm fixing my hair like everybody else is. I'm adjusting the light purple ribbon that is wrapped around my yellow frilly dress and tying it into a neat bow behind my back. My body is here. I'm not… here. I'm back in the hotel room, holding my baby with her forehead against mine and I don't have a care in the world anymore. I don't even care about sectionals… I just care about me and her.

It was too much for one day, I think. Between Rachel deciding that she doesn't ever want to be with me and Shelby showing up with my daughter. I think it was just too much for one day and all I really want to do is go back to the hotel and lie in bed and cry until my whole body is numb. But I can't because I'm expected to perform.

_Why do I ruin everything? I ruin everything. I ruin everyone's lives. Everything that I touch completely shatters and who wants to be around a person like that? Certainly not Rachel. How is it that in one day, I lost the girl that I love and my child within two hours of each other…? Shelby's never going to let me see Beth again. She said it herself. She has to do what's best for Beth and it won't be long until she figures out that seeing me is not what's best for her. She can't let someone who wrecks everything she touches see her daughter. Then I'd just wreck Beth's life too and who wants that? This will probably be the last time I see her. She's going to be in the audience somewhere, watching me perform and my head isn't even where it needs to be…. _

"You okay?" Mercedes asks, standing beside me to fix my bow.

"Yeah," I mumble and I don't think she believes me. _I wouldn't believe me either…_

"Mom and Dad wished us luck," she tightens the purple bow so it's squeezing my stomach a little harder than comfortable, but I don't have it in me to ask her to loosen it. "You nervous? About the dance break?"

"Yeah," I mumble again. Same tone, same breath.

"Well don't be," she smooths the piece of my hair that we left out of my Cinderella bun back. "You're one of the best dancers in the club. You got this."

"Alright guys," Mr. Shue claps his hands together to get our attention. "I want you to know that no matter what happens today, I am so incredibly proud to be your teacher and your mentor. I love you guys like you're my own kids and there's nothing you can do to make me feel any more honored to be involved with such a special group of kids like you. I'm gonna be watching backstage the entire time. Go out there and do exactly what it is I know you kids can do. Show 'em what Lima, Ohio is made of so we can go get some candy tomorrow. Okay? New Directions on three. One… two… three —"

"NEW DIRECTIONS!" We all scream as we throw our pile of hands up into the air and Mr. Schue stays where he is standing as the rest of us all make our way to take our place in the wings.

I'm finally starting to feel it… _Oh god, I'm nervous…_

Aside from the nerves eating me alive, I think we're going to do okay…. right? All of us look great, the costumes turned out wonderful. The girls are all dressed in big poofy yellow dresses with white stockings and light brown high-heeled loafers. We tied purple ribbons around the torso of our dresses because Jane wore yellow and purple in the Tarzan movie that Mr. Schue made us watch when he was trying to convince a bunch of teenagers to sing Disney songs. And the boys are wearing light brown tuxedos with yellow and purple bow ties and they don't look as good as the girls do, but they do look pretty sharp. Everyone looks and is dressed the same… except for Rachel.

Her light purple shift dress is flowy around the waist and the arms, and her hair is tied back with a bright yellow ribbon. She looks different because she is the glue that is going to hold this performance together. We believe in her… well… at least I do.

"Don't be nervous," Finn puts his hand on the small of her back and grins at her. I hope he doesn't feel special for being able to sense that Rachel is nervous, because I sensed it too. She peeked around the curtain and looked out at the two thousand people all sitting in the crowd and she froze. That's how I knew. "You got this. Rachel Berry never gets nervous."

She looks at Finn with low, extremely nervous eyes and tries to smile at him, but it's not something she can fake at this moment. Instead, she pulls away from the hand he has on her back and walks away from him. And for a second, it seems like maybe it's a dream or it's too good to be true. But right before she is standing two feet in front of me, I get myself together and realize that this is real life and she is coming over to me for comfort… and not Finn.

"I can feel my heart beating in my chest," she says to me, taking a deep breath. _So… we're just going to act like you didn't break up with me or whatever? We're just not gonna discuss it? Okay then…_

"That's normal when you're nervous," I say.

"I feel like I need to throw up," she closes her eyes.

"Also normal when you're nervous."

"No, Quinn. It's not nerves from performing, it's… it's something else. We have to talk about earlier."

"Right now? Rachel, we're about to go on stage. I'm not doing this with you right now. I'm nervous enough for the dance break as it is, I can't handle you berating me for treating you as badly as I did right now," I sigh and walk away so I can take my place beside Santana and Brittany.

"Wait!"

I whip around and sigh at her so loud that I'm pretty sure I drew attention to us. "Can't it wait until after we perform at least?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I can't perform like this, I'll choke and mess up. I can't. I have to tell you now, so I can stop feeling like this," she grabs ahold of my hand and looks me in the eye. "I know you don't mean it when you're mean to me. I know you're just going through a lot, I saw that when you were holding Beth. And I just wanted to tell you…" she takes a breath, considering what she is going to say. "I wanted to tell you that if it's between you and Finn that I choose you. Every single time."

And you know what? I don't care about anything anymore. I don't care. I've done a lot of things and I've been a lot of emotions. I've been happy and sad at the same time. I've been angry but calm. But the one thing I've never allowed myself to feel is happy and in love and maybe I'm wrong because I'm only seventeen and most people think I'm too young to know what love is but I think I do. I think love is when you look into her eyes and know that you can do anything in this world as long as she's by your side. Love is knowing that you are not the best person for her, but you are willing to try and become better. Love is knowing what she deserves and vowing to be exactly the person. Love is knowing that you have to work on yourself because she deserves every part of you that is a better woman. Love is when she holds your hand and you feel your heart skip a few beats. Love is wanting to kiss her in front of everybody and not caring what they'll think.

Love is when I lean to kiss her and I don't know if anybody else is watching, but I also don't care. She tilts her head to the side so our noses don't bump, and I tilt mine too. And I swear we are really going to do it, we are really going to kiss… but then…

"**LADIES AND GENTLEMEN… FROM WILLIAM MCKINLEY HIGH SCHOOL IN LIMA, OHIO… THE NEW DIRECTIONS!"**

So I pull away when the announcer says that because the kind of kiss I want to give her just isn't one that will last a couple seconds. I want her to feel how much I love her and how much I'm willing to do better for her through my kiss. And I can't do that in a short amount of time. I just put my hand against her shoulder, and look her deep into her eyes.

"Give them the star they came to see," I say.

She nods at me once, then starts walking, her dress flowing pretty behind her. She walks in front of the curtain while I hurry to take my place beside Brittany and Santana, behind the curtain.

"Did you get your kiss?" Santana nudges me with her elbow and I nudge her back just as Rachel's solo music starts playing.

I close my eyes and listen to her because I can usually tell by the first two or three notes if she's going to nail her performance or not.

"_**I've been staring at the edge of the water 'long as I can remember… never really knowing why."**_

_She's gonna nail it. Oh yeah she is. My girl is going to kill this. I can feel it. _A soft blue light starts glowing on the stage and through the bottom of the curtains, I can see Rachel's feet move as she follows the blue spotlight to the center of the stage. The blue light stops, so I know that she's center stage and the light is shining on her. The crowd is so quiet that I can even hear the breaths she takes in between words.

"_**I wish… I could be the perfect daughter, but I come back to the water no matter how hard I try."**_

_She is killing this…_

"_**Every turn I take, every trail I track, every path I make, every road leads back to the place I know where I cannot go, where I long to be…" **_

I hold my breath because I know she's about to blow them away. They haven't heard her high notes yet. They don't know how amazing and technical her voice is. She's using a microphone but little do they know she doesn't need it. Her voice projects just that well. She is such an amazing talent and she's about to absolutely blow them away… just wait on it…

_Here she goes… the music amps up and everyone knows that something big is coming, but what they don't know is that something great is coming…_

Santana nudges me with her elbow because we all know what's about to happen… and god I'm so nervous. I am so…. nervous. I've never been this nervous before. How many people are out there?

"_**See the light as it shines on the sea? It's bliiiiinding… But no one knooooows how deep it goooooes. And it seems like it's calling out to me, so come fiiiiiind me… and let me knoooow…. what's beyond that line, will I cross that line?"**_

I take a deep breath and hold it in as the curtains that have been hiding the rest of us start to raise up. Just before Rachel opens her mouth to close out the most powerful and difficult notes on the song, the curtains are all the way up and we're all here. On this stage. Right here. In this moment.

_There's gotta be closer to three thousand people here..._

Just like we rehearsed, Rachel turns around and looks at us as she closes it out.

"_**See the line where the sky meets the sea? It caaaalls me… and no one knoooows, how far it gooooooes…"**_

The goosebumps rise up on my arms as soon as she does her thing. _That's my girl… that's my Rachel…_

She turns back around to face the judges and takes her deep breath and oh god, this is IT…

"_**If the wind in my sail on the sea stays behind me… one day I'll knoooow… how far I'll GOOOOO…" **_

The lights go dim just like they always did during rehearsals, and the crowd goes absolutely nuts for Rachel. I want to look at her because I know that she is just living for this applause and it's so deserved because she is so incredible, but I can't stop looking at the ground. I feel like I have to throw up because me and Brittany are next. We're next. I have to take a long, deep breath. _This is just like rehearsals, Quinn. There's just people here now. You've been killing it in rehearsal. Pretend you're back at McKinley and pretend that nobody is watching. You can do this._

Rachel turns to the side and puts her hand out, introducing us. I feel like I need to use the bathroom or throw up or both because as soon as she says, "Ladies and gentlemen… We're the new directions." I know that me and Brittany have to go. And it's like Brittany isn't nervous at all or anything, because she hops right into character. As soon as the lights come on and light the entire stage up, she looks over at me just like we rehearsed and waves at me like she's saying "come on."

_You can do this, Quinn. You can do this._

The sounds of glass shattering, papers ripping and trumpets playing fill the entire theater and just like we rehearsed, I shake my head at Brittany and mouth the words "no thanks." Brittany nods her head extremely fast like she's an animated character and grabs me by the hand and as soon as she does that, I know the count has officially started. _Five, six, seven, eight._

The two of us hop down off the risers we were standing on and I'm so surprised, but I remember! I'm doing it! Brittany leads and I follow and I'm not sure because I can't see us from the audience, but I think we're playing the role of having a dance battle pretty well!

"_**Lemme hear it, Big Fella!" **_Brittany pushes on my shoulders and I kneel down so she can jump over me and when she does, the crowd reacts the exact same way they reacted to Rachel's amazing voice.

I jump back up and follow her across the stage, but I stop in the middle during my second eight count and find the part in the music so I can say my spoken word piece. "_**I feel something happenin' here!"**_

Brittany grabs my arm and spins me around as everyone behind us starts singing the nonsense words and we actually sound pretty good, if I do say so myself. There's no real words in Trashin' The Camp except for the gibberish words but honestly the crowd is eating it up and I think they like it.

And when Brittany picks me up and spins me around, I have to pick her up and spin her around too, but I almost miss my mark because I see her! She's right there! Two rows behind the judges! Beth is sitting on Shelby's lap and Shelby is bouncing her up and down in tune with the music and she has a smile on her face and TuckTuck in her hands and I don't know how to explain it, but it's like as soon as I see her… as soon as I see her, I feel like I can do anything. She's watching me, Shelby is pointing at me and stuff and I think Beth really knows it's me! I can do this!

Everyone behind me and Brittany… Santana, Rachel, Finn, Mike, Tina, Mercedes, Kurt, Blaine… even Puck… they're all behind us singing the gibberish behind us as me and Brittany are front and center and I feel… alive, almost. It's like that infinite feeling I had back at the homecoming game except bigger. Brittany puts her hands on my back to support me as I do my big trick — doing a backflip supported by her knee — and then we hold hands as the song draws to a close.

The lights go down again as the guys sing the last little bit, and Brittany puts her arm around me and everyone is clapping for us. They're actually clapping for us… for me. It's like… magic, almost…

And I want to stand here in the center of the stage and bask in this… this glory. I want to sit here in the center of the stage and bask in the glory of everyone clapping and cheering for how awesome me and Brittany just did, but there's no time because the next song starts immediately after Trashin' The Camp ends, so me and Brittany have to get back to our position up on the risers so Finn and Artie can take center stage.

The stage lights up purple as Finn starts to dance around Artie as he sings.

"_**Here I go!" **_Artie wheels himself to the edge of the stage. "_**You done wound me up! 'Bout to show you what I'm workin' with!"**_

Finn stands next to him and Mr. Schue mostly told him to just stand there while we all dance around him, but it doesn't seem like the judges really notice or even care.

"_**Well, Ali Baba, he had them forty thieves**_

_ **Scheherazade had a thousand tales. But, master, you're in luck because up your sleeves you got a brand of magic never fails!" ** _

Santana dances her way to the center of the stage and it's her turn now. "_**You got some power in your corner now, heavy ammunition in your camp.**_

_ **You got some punch and how? All you gotta do is rub that lamp then I'll say…"** _

The spotlight shines down on Mercedes and I feel the same way I felt about Rachel singing, actually. I feel… proud. Like I know that she's about to kill it and I can say that's my best friend.

"_**Mr. Man, what's your name? Whatever, what will your pleasure be? Let me take your order, I'll jot it down. You ain't never had a friend like me!"**_

When it's time for Artie to start rapping his part, Brittany and Mike dance over to the two sides of him and do their hip-hop dance bit and I think when we get back to school, I'm gonna tell Mr. Schue that I'm comfortable enough to do more dancing. _I can do hip-hop…_

"_**I'm the Genie of the lamp. I can sing, rap, dance if you give me a chance."**_

Our performance could have gone very wrong now that I think about it. The four groups that went before us all sang very mainstream songs. The one group sang three Ariana Grande songs and the group before them sang "Old Town Road" and the judges seemed to really enjoy it, actually. A bunch of high schoolers dancing around the stage singing songs that would entertain preschoolers always sounded creepy to me, but I think Mr. Schue was right when he said that we could be a breath of fresh air for the judges because I think we actually are. A breath of fresh air, I mean. And even though I thought we were doomed because I saw the judges bobbing their heads and stomping their feet to "Old Town Road", I think I was wrong because they're actually dancing in their seats while Artie is rapping.

_I think we might actually win this… I'm talking first place win…_

Finn, Artie, Puck and Mike are center stage now and I wish I could bottle this moment up forever. Because even thought they're all clapping and whooping and hooting and hollering for the boys, they're cheering for us. They love us… it's a very unreal feeling.

The last chorus rolls around and the lights get really bright and fluorescent on the stage, and I take a deep breath because we're all supposed to join in for the last part.

"_**Mr. Aladdin, yes! One wish, or two, or three! Well I'm on the job, you big nabob, you ain't never had a friend, never had a friend. You ain't never had a friend, never had a friend. You ain't never… had a… friend… like… me!"**_

Before the lights go out and the stage gets dim once again, Finn stands center stage to say the last line, "_**You ain't never had a friend like me!"**_

The last note sounds and the entire crowd stands up and screams for us and even though it's dark on the stage, I can make out where Beth and Shelby are sitting and Beth is actually clapping. She's standing up on Shelby's lap and she's got TuckTuck hanging out her mouth but she's clapping and I just really want to jump off the stage and grab her. I want to grab her and ask her if she saw me… I want to ask her if she saw her mother up there and if she saw how I didn't miss a beat during "Trashin' The Camp."

Even though everyone is still clapping and raving about "A Friend Like Me", the first notes of the last song start playing and just like rehearsals, we all put our heads down while Rachel walks down center stage.

"_**I have often dreamed of a far off place where a great warm welcome will be waiting for me." **_

As soon as Rachel starts singing, the crowd settles down a little so everyone can hear her. The stage lights up a really pretty orange color and Mr. Schue was right, it really is a nice effect. During rehearsal, we couldn't get orange lightbulbs so we practiced with yellow ones instead and we just had to trust Mr. Schue when he said that orange would look way prettier and he was right…

"_**Where the crowds will cheer when they see my face, and a voice keeps saying, this is where I'm meant to be…" **_

_The judges love her… I can tell. They can't take their eyes off of her…_

"_**I will find my way… I can go the distance. I'll be there someday, if I can be strong. I know every mile will be worth my while. I will go most anywhere to feel like I beloooong..."**_

Rachel puts the microphone back in the microphone stand and joins everyone else back on the risers instead of standing center stage. The crowd must think that she's done, because they're all cheering for her and rightfully so because she killed both her solos today, but we're not done. Not yet. The music just slows down and gets low but after a few minutes, just long enough for Rachel to catch her breath.

The rest of the stage lights up with the orange lights and we all join in for our very last chorus…

"_**I am on my way! I can go the distance! I don't care how far! Somehow I'll be strong! I know every mile will be worth my while! I would go most anywhere to feel… like I…. belong!"**_

The curtain finally closes on us and maybe I'm biased, but trust me when I say that nobody else that performed today got the reaction we got. As soon as the curtains are fully closed, we all jump down off the risers and run towards the backstage because I think I speak for all of us when I say that we just want to tell Mr. Schue that he was right and that was the most amazing performance we've ever — I do mean **EVER **— have performed.

"Quinn!" Mercedes runs toward me and almost knocks me over with the hug but the only reason I don't fall over is because Tina is on the other side of me, hugging me to balance me out. "You did so good! You freaking NAILED IT!"

"What are you talking about?!" I wrap my arms around both of them. "You did great too Mercedes, when you took the center? Did you see the judges?! They loved us!"

"Where's Rachel?!" I shrug out of their grasp. "She killed it, guys, where is she?"

I look around and scan the entire backstage for her and I find her standing over by Finn. She raises up on her tiptoes and hugs him and even though that does kind of make me feel some kind of way, I'm trying to not control her anymore. So I just… I swallow it. And I walk over to her just as her and Finn stop embracing each other.

"Hey," I smile at her as honestly as possible, still a little out of breath. "You did great…"

"You did great too, Quinn. You and Brittany were the highlight of the show, ask anyone." We look into each other's eyes and I'm not sure, but it feels like this might be it. Like this is where we part. Like we both know that we love each other but sometimes love isn't enough. "...I told Finn," she is nervous with the way she says that.

"You… you what?"

"I told him. I told him that I'm not… interested in him anymore. I told him that we could be friends but nothing else. That's it, I… I told him…" she smiles at me as if she's looking for approval. "I told you if I have to choose between you and him, I… I'm choosing you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys don't have to read this note if you don't want to, but I just wanted to tell you guys that I am so incredibly grateful and happy that I have stumbled upon an audience as receptive as you. I may not reply to each and every comment or review that you guys make, but I read every single one of them and there are times where I feel as though I want to cry because I don't know what I've done to deserve people that are so responsive to the things I write. I just want you guys to know that I feel so lucky to have you and I love all of you, even if I don't always have the time to tell you personally. 💚


	36. Barely Breathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone who celebrated the holiday had a really good thanksgiving! I’m so thankful to have you guys as such a receptive and cheerful audience. I love you guys! Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

* * *

The phone is on its seventh ring when I start to think that Mercedes is just going to hang up and have us try to call them again in a few minutes. It’s on the seventh ring when the camera finally freezes the way it does before the other end picks up and the connection gets strong enough. Mercedes fashions her phone between the both of us so we each get equal screen time.

“What y’all still doin’ up?” Mrs. Jones says as soon as both our cameras focus and she can see us. On her end, it looks like she’s lying in bed for the night. She has her favorite pajama shirt on and her hair is all tucked underneath her scarf. It’s only 8:45, but she did say that while me and Mercedes were gone and she was “kid free” for the weekend, she was looking forward to going to bed early.

“Mom, it’s not even nine yet,” Mercedes edges the camera towards me a little. “Quinn’s here, too, if you can’t see her.”

I wave at the camera because in all honesty… I’m not quite sure what to say. I’m not really used to having someone to call after performances and to be honest, I’m not really even sure if she’ll care how we did. And plus I don’t really want to intrude on her and Mercedes’ time, you know? I know Mercedes probably doesn’t feel this way, but I just feel as though I’ve taken enough time away from her. Her mom cooks for four people now instead of three. Her mom pays for four cell phones now instead of three. She has to buy special shampoo and conditioner for me, she buys the food I especially like to eat. She washes four loads of laundry now instead of three. There comes a point where enough is enough, and if this is Mercedes and her mom’s special time… well who am I to get in the way of that?

“I see her,” Mrs. Jones waves back. “I just figured you all would be in bed with how early you done got up this morning.”

“Eh, we’re not really all that tired. We’re just hanging out in Mr. Schue’s room, eating pizza.”

“How’d y’all do at the competition? Y’all win? Place at least?”

“Nah, we didn’t do so hot…” Mercedes tries her best to sound all sad and disappointed and I help her out by poking my lip out and sighing.

Our FaceTime connection isn’t that great because our cell phone service sucks in this hotel and Mercedes hasn’t figured out how to connect to the WiFi here yet but even with the crappy camera quality, I can see that Mrs. Jones’ face falls. Like she actually truly cares about how we placed and how we performed and if we’re sad about it or not. And I know it’s kind of the bare minimum thing. To actually be interested and hear about something that your child loves to do, I mean. But it’s such a new and fresh feeling to me that I’m honestly feeling a bit overwhelmed by it.

I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything today…

_ Maybe I’m being a little bit cocky and overconfident, but I really know that we have this one in the bag. As I stand here on this stage with the lights shining down on all of us, in the middle of holding Rachel’s hand on one side and Mercedes’ hand on the other, I know that nothing else any other group did comes close to the magic that we made happen on the stage. _

_ I can still feel the floor vibrating beneath my feet and the way my body felt weightless and free when me and Brittany nailed our dance battle. I still my pulse shooting up a hundred miles a minute when Artie rapped his verse and still feel the goosebumps pricking my back from when Rachel nailed her solos. It was a big risk for us, doing Disney songs. Especially when everyone else went super mainstream. But I know in the depths of my heart that we pulled it off and we’re walking away from this with a big win. _

_ The head director of some great performing arts college here in Hershey stands just a few paces ahead of us, tearing open the envelope. When she announced that we weren’t third place, Rachel squeezed my hand. Then when she said we weren’t second place, she pulled my arm… _

_ Because when the woman opens up the envelope and holds the microphone to her mouth, we already know what is going to come out of it. But it still feels just as amazing as being a surprise, you know? _

_ When she says, “And your first place winner, from Lima, Ohio, William McKinley High’s New Directions!”, it feels like somebody put us all on a cloud. And sure, yeah, by logic we should all fall straight through the bottom and come barreling down to the ground because clouds can’t hold us up. But this cloud can. This cloud carries us and gives hope to the hopeless. It lifts us up and let’s us float on happiness and sunshine just for a while. And my god, it feels good. _

_ To have Mercedes pull me into a hug that actually hurts, and to have Tina’s tears all over my neck. To see Mr. Schue hold up the first place trophy that he so fully deserves and to see him look at us and say, “we did it.” And when Brittany practically jumps up my back, I look over at Santana and see that she is just as proud of us. And I have Rachel in my arms as I hug her and spin her around because while we’re all pretty amazing, she is the most amazing one; the brightest star in my sky. It’s a feeling that I’m going to carry with me the rest of my life. _

_ The feeling of working hard and being rewarded for it. _

I missed that feeling before it even left. I was still on the stage and still picking confetti out of my hair and still feeling like a true somebody in this world that has chewed me up and spit me out. I was standing there and everybody was clapping for us and I felt it so intensely that I shivered when a single tear rolled down my cheek. And then I started to miss that feeling. It was still happening but I already missed it and I already knew that I would never feel anything else that compared to that.

I wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep a little piece of it with me wherever I go. But I felt it slipping through my fingers like sand and I couldn’t pick it back up. It was leaving just as quickly as it came and I looked at everyone else behind me and wondered if maybe they felt the same way. If maybe they were so happy that they were sad just like me.

“Quinn?” Mrs. Jones calls my name, so I look into the phone. I guess Mercedes told her that we actually won because she’s smiling as she’s holding the phone but I wasn’t really paying attention to that part. Or… any part, really. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Huh?” I look around, suddenly extremely aware of my surroundings. Aware that we are standing in the middle of a hotel hallway, and aware that I am wearing the only pair of decent pajama shorts that I own.

“You okay? What’s ‘a matter, baby?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head. “I’m just super tired. It’s… been a long day, that’s all.” Which isn’t really a lie. I am really tired and it has been a long day. But more than anything, I feel sadness with my entire body. Sadness so raw and so daunting that my whole body just aches with it. I want to burst out into tears and cry. I want to sit down and just cry until my head feels like it’s going to fly off, then cry some more.

“Go get some rest then, sweetpea. Both of you. You girls had a long day.”

“We are. I just wanted to let you know that we won,” Mercedes takes the phone away from facing me and makes it face solely her and that’s another way that we’re on the same wavelength because I really don’t want her mom looking at me when I feel this way. “We’re going to chocolate world tomorrow morning, so I’ll text you in the afternoon sometime.”

“All right, boop.” She says, and Mercedes cringes at her mother’s nickname for her. “Love you. Have a good night. Tell Quinn I said goodnight, too.”

“Night,” I mumble back at her and as soon as Mercedes hangs up the phone, I’m grabbing at the doorknob because as much as I want to be alone so I can cry right now, I think the only solution for the way I feel is to be around my family and they’re all behind that door.

Mercedes follows me back into Mr. Schue and Emma’s room, and we weasel our way back to our seats. I smash myself back between Rachel and Santana and Mercedes is back between Tina and Sam. It seems like they went through yet another pizza while me and Mercedes were gone because there’s a fresh one in the middle of the circle we’re all sitting in and when we left to go out into the hallway, there were five slices left in the old one.

I pull the smallest piece of plain cheese off the corner and take a small bite.

“I really thought we were gonna lose to Old Town Road, I’m not gonna lie guys,” Santana pours more Pepsi into Brittany’s plastic cup then tops off her own. “I totally thought about throwing buckets of water onto the stage and making them all fall and break their necks.”

“You thought we were gonna lose to _ that _song?” Puck speaks next and he has a mouth full of pizza that I kind of wish he would choke on.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda did too,” Finn admits. “They had actual horses on stage, so it kinda made me nervous.”

“It’s illegal to have horses perform for show choir. They are overworked and underpaid and I’ve already written a strongly worded letter to PETA,” Brittany shrugs and it makes all of us kinda giggle, but nobody wants to truly laugh. I like how we just choose to not hurt Brit’s feelings. She lives in a magical place and we just kinda let her go.

“Is that what you were doing with my eyeliner?” Santana asks and that is what makes all of us really laugh.

There’s no pressure or embarrassment here in this hotel room between us, so I act like the closeted slob that I am and put my pizza on my leg for safekeeping while I drink because I’m too lazy to grab a plate off the end table next to Rachel. There’s seriously no judgment here and I think that’s what makes me feel like we’re all united as a family. We’re all in our pajamas and none of us have makeup on or gel in our hair. We’re all stripped, as bare as we can possibly be, and none of us care. This is my definition of a family… even including Puck, which… makes me feel even worse than I already do. _ I just want to hate him so bad… but it’s so hard to do it when I have to see him… _

“So guys,” Mr. Schue licks his lips and dusts off the last piece of crust from his pizza. “Who’s ready to admit that I was right? Movie songs were the way to go. We didn’t need the fancy production or… live horses. Just good, old, fun songs that make everyone want to get up and dance.”

“No offense Mr. Schue, but we’re not giving you anything,” Kurt says, rubbing hand lotion into his palms.

“Yeah, because you never listen to us,” Tina says. “The whole time we were trying to tell you that it wasn’t songs from movies that we hated, it was the idea of doing little kid Disney.”

“Let’s face it, Mr. Schue,” I chime in as I pick my pizza back up off of my leg. “We got lucky. Our song choices could have easily bit us in the ass, I mean… we’re teenagers. We want to do teenage songs.”

“Songs that we can relate to,” Rachel is the loudest voice in the room when she speaks. _ That’s my girl... _

“Yeah,” Santana backs me. “I mean how were we supposed to relate to some girl sailing the ocean or Ancient Greek people becoming heroes?”

“And I can’t speak for Quinn, but I’m definitely not an ape trashing a camp.” Brittany speaks and I think that was an insult of some sort, but I’m not sure enough to make a big deal over it.

“You always say the best performances come from songs that we can connect our feelings to,” Blaine starts taking next. “But none of us could relate to the songs.”

“Hm,” Mr. Schue does something cross between a mumble and a grunt, then stands up from his place on the bed. He smacks his hands together like he’s trying to dust them off. “You guys just gave me an idea before I send you off to bed.” He walks over to his suitcase and starts rummaging through it and the rest of us just watch until he finally produces the Bluetooth speaker that we practiced our performance up with earlier. “You say movie songs weren’t the problem? Well here’s an assignment. Boys vs. girls, Kurt you’re with the boys. In your groups, I want you guys to think of songs made famous by movies that you would have rather performed today. I will buy the winning team’s chocolate tomorrow, and I might consider putting the song into the setlist for regionals. You have five minutes to throw something together.”

“Okay, huddle up! Huddle up! We need to discuss STRATEGY!” Rachel snaps her fingers at us which kind of annoys everybody else — me included, actually — but I’m just ignoring it. “We need to think about what songs _ I _sound best on, because we need to control what we do at regionals.”

“I am going to drown her in the bathtub if you don’t get her,” Santana mumbles into my ear and I nudge her with my elbow.

“Rachel, you do know it’s possible to not have every single solo, right?” Mercedes rolls her eyes at her. “Other people have voices too.”

“Yes, but —“ Rachel starts but doesn’t finish.

“Okay then it’s settled,” Santana claps her hands together. “I’ll take the first verse, Mercedes, you’ll take the bridge, Brit and Quinn together on the hook, Rachel gets the chorus, Sugar and the Little Debbie Snack Cake Bandit in charge of all the simultaneous singing in the background, Tina rounds it out, all of us come together for the last part.” _ The plan sounds good but it looks like Lauren might punch her for that stupid nickname. _

“And what song are we doing?” Rachel is so flustered that I think she might cry, so I grab onto her hand. I just want her to know that’s okay to give up control just this once. She pulls her hand out of mine, though. “Guys, we need to really think about the choice here, I mean Mr. Schue needs to know our point of view! It’s supposed to be a song that we love and relate to and —“

“Rachel.” Santana’s voice sounds like she’s about to be mean, so I flash her a look that says “cool it,” and I think she settles a bit. “When you’re not performing, what does it feel like? Doesn’t it feel like you can’t control it? Doesn’t it feel like you HAVE to be up and dancing and singing and performing? Like you just can’t stop it?”

“Well, yeah, but —“

“You can’t stop it, can you?” Mercedes looks at her, then looks at me and I immediately get what she’s saying. I think we all do. I think we all know what song we’re going to do except for Rachel but that’s okay because she’s really good at picking up our keys and I know she’ll be able to hop right in.

“Mr. Schue, we’re done!” Tina says. “We’re ready!”

“Boys were done first,” Mr. Schue types something into the YouTube search bar on his phone and connects it to his speaker. “Let’s give them your attention and be fair. No heckling.”

For some reason, Artie wheels himself right to the middle, right in front of the bed and Finn, Puck, Mike, Kurt, Blaine and Sam all stand up on the extra bed that Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury aren’t using. _ I wish Puck would fall… I’d feel bad and want him to go to hospital but I still wish he’d fall. _

Mr. Schue presses play and as soon as the first note of their stupid song plays, I already know that we won. There’s no use in us even performing because there’s no way their stupid song is going to outshine ours. It’s such a stupid song. And I don’t get how they relate to it in any way. I think they just wanted to sing it and be stupid.

** _“Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me. I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed.” _ **Artie starts singing first and he doesn’t sound bad but god this song was such a stupid choice. I can’t believe this is the best they could do.

Finn, Puck, Mike and Sam all sway back and forth with their stupid little boyband moves from the 90s and Kurt and Blaine both sing together next, ** _“She was lookin’ kinda dumb with her finger and her thumb in the shape of an L on her forehead.”_ **

The backup dancers on the bed each take turns singing a different line and I can’t lie… they sound really good, actually… and maybe my foot is tapping. Just a little though. _ This song is so catchy! It’s so stupid! _

** _“Well the years start comin’ and they don’t stop comin’. Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running. Didn’t make sense not to live for fun. Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb. So much to do, so much to see. So what’s wrong with taking the backstreets? You’ll never know if you go. You’ll never shine if you don’t glow…”_ **

And just as the chorus rolls around, Mike does a really cool looking backflip off the bed and lands perfectly on his feet and Mr. Shue is mouthing the words and before I know it, we’re all singing along to this stupid, stupid song. I mean, really singing, too. I’m dancing and bebopping and nodding my head while Mercedes and Santana shimmy their shoulders at me and who knew such a stupid song could be so much fun?

** _“Hey now! You’re an all star! Get your name on, go play! Hey now! You’re a rock star! Get the show on, get paid! And all that glitters is gold! Only shootin’ stars break the mold!”_ **

Artie and Mike take the last piece together and I think I actually might clap. ** _“And all that glitters is gold… only shootin’ stars break the mo-old…”_ **

Everyone in the room, myself included, starts to clap and cheer for their stupid song and even stupider performance and dare I say it, but that’s going to be really hard to beat. Finn and Puck both jump off the bed at the same time and Sam stays up there because I guess it’s his job to explain it.

“We picked the song, as made famous by Shrek, because it’s an awesome song,” he pants like a dog as he’s explaining all out of breath and I know there’s about a million jokes Santana could make about his mouth right now. “And it’s about how we’re not losers, we’re all stars, so.”

“Well ladies,” Mr. Schue says, still clapping for them with a goofy grin on his face. “I don’t know how you’re going to top that, but I’m really excited to see you try. Santana, you want to do the honors?” He hands Santana his phone and she types our music into the YouTube search bar.

“Prepare to be amazed,” Mercedes rolls her eyes at all the boys.

“You might wanna take notes,” Santana rolls hers next.

“Okay,” Puck snorts and I wish he were choking. “Show us what _ not _to do.”

I roll my eyes at him so hard that my head hurts, but our music starts and I’m ready to kick it into high gear with my girls. Me and Brittany are improving a couple dance moves and I’m not as good as her but I think maybe someday I might be. Kurt and Blaine’s feet are the first ones to start tapping and I think that gives Mercedes the little kick she needed to start.

** _“I got this feeling… inside my bones. It goes electric, wavy when I turn it on.” _ ** Man, Santana sounds incredible… her voice is perfect for this. ** _“All through my city… all through my home. We’re flying up, no ceiling when we in our zone.”_ **

Hands on her hips, Mercedes struts front and center and we all dance around her and the boys are trying so hard to act like we’re not totally killing it right now but we are and we know we are.

** _“I’ve got that sunshine in my pocket, got that good soul in my feet. I feel that hot blood in my body when it drops!” _ ** Mercedes sings her ass off and points to Sugar and Lauren, who come in so nicely with ** _“ooh!” _ **Mercedes spins around and grabs Rachel off the chair and pulls her to her feet. 

Brittany grabs my hands and spins me around like we’re dancing the tango or something when it’s our turn to start singing.** _“I can’t take my eyes up off it, moving so phenomenally. Room on lock the way we drop it, so it don’t stop!” _ **At the same time, me and Brittany jump up on the bed and wave the boys up to join us. Kurt and Blaine are the first to.

Rachel offers her hand to Finn, who looks at it skeptically like he’s unsure of what she wants him to do. And I’m trying this new thing called “not controlling Rachel”, so I’m not mad when she does that, I swear.

Finn grabs her hand and stands up just as Rachel starts singing. ** _“But under the lights when everything goes… nowhere to hide when I’m getting you close… when we move, we’ll you already know… so just imagine… Just imagine… just imagine…”_ **

And as soon as we start singing our chorus, the entire room is on their feet. All the boys, Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury everyone. And it’s that feeling that I missed. That feeling of us being on a cloud and just floating. I thought I’d never get it back, but here I am. I’m feeling it again.

** _“Nothin’ I can see but you when you dance, dance, dance, dance! Feel a good good creepin’ up on you, so just dance, dance, dance, dance come on! All those things I shouldn’t do, but you dance, dance, dance, dance! Ain’t nobody leavin’ soon so keep dancin’! Everybody sing! Can’t stop this feeling in my body! Got this feeling in my body! Can’t stop this feeling in my body! Got this feeling in my body! Can’t stop this feeling in my body!”_ **

Rachel jumps down off the bed and sits down just as she hits her last run of the last ** _“ooooh._ ** **” **And maybe not everybody is clapping for us the way we clapped for the boys, but we crushed it if I do say so myself. We absolutely crushed it. 

“All right, girls!” Mr. Schue is all sweaty from dancing, but he is clapping so proudly for us. _ Just tell us we won so we can prove those boys with their stupid song wrong. _“That was great! That was fun, see! That’s what it's all about! It’s all about fun!”

“We picked that song because we love to dance when we hear music and we literally can’t stop the feeling,” Brittany jumps down off the bed and wraps her arm around me. “And just to let everybody know, Quinn is my new dancing partner and I think all of you are great dancers but not as great as me and her and I need somebody who can keep up with me.”

“Just tell us who won!” Mercedes is still out of breath too.

“We totally beat them,” Blaine says. “Come on, you can say it.”

“We crushed you!” Santana argues back.

“Guys, guys,” Mr. Schue laughs. “Emma and I voted. And… while it was a really really awesome performance and full of the fun that glee club is supposed to be about…” he sighs. “...Sorry ladies, but the boys took it this time.”

Santana and Rachel and Brittany and Tina and Sugar and Lauren and Mercedes are all pretty pissed off and they’re all moaning about it, but I can’t help but feel grateful. Even though we lost, I got a little bit of that feeling back. I thought I lost it forever and I didn’t. And yeah I am a little mad because that song is super stupid and we CANNOT do it at regionals. We just cannot perform All Star at regionals. I will single-handedly incite a nationwide riot if we do.

But we don’t get to sit and wallow in our irritated feelings for too long, because there are three loud knocks on the door and we all quiet down because even though it’s only 9:30, I’m pretty sure these are the hotel’s quiet hours and we were just being super loud and signing and jumping on the bed.

Mr. Schue backpedals to the door, still explaining his judging. “The boys just understood the assignment a little better, so they’re the winners. But ladies, you did give me something to seriously consider for sectionals. That was great fun. After I get the door, I’m dismissing you for bed. We’re leaving early tomorrow for chocolate world, so bed time it is.”

“I can’t believe they won,” Mercedes shakes her head. “It’s so obvious that he favors them, there’s no way they were better than us.”

“Artie was so off-key,” Santana rolls her eyes. “And every time Sam opened his mouth I wanted to shield us all from getting sucked away into the big black hole.”

“Watch it,” Mercedes mumbles.

“Look, what’s important is that Mr. Schue said that we were the ones who gave him something to think about for regionals. Which means _ I _still have a shot at getting a solo and —“

“You are literally the most intolerable human to ever walk the planet,” Santana looks up at the ceiling. “I sang circles around you! And you still think —“

“You didn’t let me pick the song!”

“Santana,” I step in the middle of them and hold my hand up but it’s short lived because Mr. Schue is back inside the room from answering the door and he looks directly at me.

“Quinn?” He says. I raise my eyebrow to let him know I’m listening. “Door’s for you.”

* * *

“I know it’s almost 10:00 and you’re probably really tired, but I really do need to talk to you,” she says as she slides her skinny little body into the booth. She’s fully dressed and I’m thinking that she probably never settled down after the competition. She’s still wearing her black jeans and silver designer belt. Her heels are still on and her black turtleneck is still tucked into her jeans. Her hair is still curled, but it’s pulled back now.

To be honest, I’m less concerned about the fact that it’s ten at night and I’m tired, and more concerned about the fact that I’m in the restaurant of our hotel in my pajama shorts and oversized t-shirt. I look awful and people are probably staring at me and she could have warned me. I slide into the booth across from her, hoping that nobody will notice my bare legs and my pink house slippers.

_ I already know what she wants. Why did I even agree to this? Why do I just love punishing myself? And torturing myself? _

The waitress stops over with her notepad and introduces herself to us, but I’m not really paying attention. I’m more so thinking about the giant knot I have down in the pit of my stomach. I already know what this is about. It’s like getting called into the principal’s office and already knowing what you did wrong. And the principal is organizing all his files and preparing his speech and prolonging the inevitable when you really just wish he’d get it over with.

“You can order whatever you want,” her voice is low and sing-songy as she eyes the menu in front of her.

“I’m not hungry,” my voice feels fake when it comes out of my mouth.

“Are you sure?” _ I hate that her voice is so pretty. It’s so light and airy and mine is so heavy and deep. It’s just one more thing that makes her better than me. _“It’s my treat. I’m not gonna drag you down to a diner at 10:00 at night and not at least pay for the meal.”

“I’m sure,” I fold my hands in my lap and my fingernail starts scratching away at my wrist. I can’t bite my nails right now or throw up, which is what I really want to do, so I guess scratching myself will suffice. “Mr. Schuester ordered us pizzas, so. I already ate.”

“Okay, so you can just bring us two house salads with… ranch dressing?” she says, the ranch part directed at me.

“Ranch is fine,” I say.

“And two waters?”

“Water’s fine.”

_ Will you just do it already? I already know what you want. I already know that you don’t want me to see Beth anymore. You think I’m wild and too unpredictable and can’t control my emotions and that’s not the kind of energy you want around Beth. I get it. You can just say it. Rip the Band-Aid off, Shelby. I’ll leave you and Beth alone. For good this time. All you have to do is say it… _

“Thank you for agreeing to come and talk to me,” she starts. I bite my bottom lip… I’m bracing myself for this… “I’ve actually been wanting to talk to you for quite sometime about Beth, and —“

“You shouldn’t have brought her here,” I don’t mean to be rude with the way I say that to her but I am and I can’t help it. I just can’t help myself anymore. My tone is nasty and my words have venom and she’s been nothing but nice so why am I so mean? “It really messed with my head when you did and it was wrong. YOU were wrong. You never should have brought her here. You —“

“Believe it or not, I think you’re right.” She nods her head and stops speaking long enough to tell the waitress “thank you” when she brings our salads and water. As soon as the waitress is gone though, she starts again. “I think you’re right about me bringing her here and doing it without telling you. And that’s part of the reason why I think we need to talk and establish those boundaries. I think we need to communicate better about Beth, for Beth’s sake. You know, I’m her mother and I —“

“I’m her mother, too.” There’s pure hatred for what she just said in my voice and I know I’m out of line, I know I am. I signed those papers and made all those agreements and right then and there, that should have been the end of all feelings that resemble this.

Shelby pats her mouth with the cloth napkin and takes a sip of her water. I can tell that I made her uncomfortable and a part of me does feel bad for doing that to her, but a bigger part of me just… doesn’t care. About anything anymore. Not even myself.

_ Do you really blame her for not wanting you around Beth? You ruin everyone’s lives that you’re in. Do you really blame her for seeing that and deciding to keep that innocent baby out of it? _

“I just meant…” I start to explain myself with a low, rough voice. The voice of someone who honestly just wants to lie down and give up if she takes Beth — the only thing that’s right in my life — away from me. “I just mean that I… want what’s best for her, too.” I take a deep breath because even though I know what I’m about to say next is going to completely break me, it needs to be said. “And I… i understand if you don’t want me to see Beth anymore. I… I understand, you don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

Her eyebrows wrinkle like she’s about to say something that’s going to be really hard for me to hear and I don’t want to, because I’m in the middle of a hotel restaurant in my pajamas and I’m already embarrassed enough. I’m already a sight for people to gawk at and if I add tears to the mix, people will surely stare. Plus, I hate that Shelby is going to see me like this. So I really don’t want to break down and cry into my plate of salad… but I really can’t help it. I’m just so… I’m so depressed and I don’t know how to get out of it. Every time I feel like I’m finally pulling myself out of this hole and digging my way out, I fall right back in and something happens so I pull the dirt over me. I’m so tired of feeling this way. It’s exhausting…

“I’m sorry,” I mutter through my blubbering tears. _ This is so embarrassing… why can’t I stop? _“I’m sorry that I lost it in front of Beth like that earlier. I just can’t help it sometimes, I just get mad and then things get out of hand and I shouldn’t have done it in front of Beth. I should have handled it better. I’m so sorry.”

“Quinn,” she reaches across the table and puts her hand on my arm. “That is exactly what I want to talk to you about.”

I snatch my hand away from hers like she burned me when she touched me or something, and use the cloth napkin to wipe my tears even though more fall in their place. “I can’t. I can’t talk about it, okay? Not with you. I just… I just can’t talk about it.”

She tilts her head to the side like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to figure out. “...Why not?”

I snivel and continue wiping my tears and I’m not intentionally giving her the silent treatment, I just don’t have anything else to say. _ It’s not important. It’s really nothing to write home about. It’s not important and it has nothing to do with Beth. Just be direct with me, Shelby. Please. Can I still see her? You have to trust me. I would never hurt her. Ever. I just want to see her. She’s what keeps me hanging on sometimes. Her and Rachel, mostly. I just want to see her… _

Shelby takes another sip of her water, wipes her mouth very properly, then leans forward as if she’s trying to get closer to me or something. I don’t have it in me to move away from her so I stay where I’m at and we’re only a few feet away from each other, separated by only the table.

“My junior year of undergrad, I was studying really hard to try and get into TISCH,” her voice is low and soft but there’s a slight emptiness behind it that I sort of recognize. “I was pulling a B in my drama class, which of course wasn’t good enough; I needed all As if I wanted to keep my GPA and raise my chances of getting in. So I went to office hours to get extra help, and my professor was really nice. He helped me study, even stayed after class a few times. I started to look forward to it, actually,” she grins but I get the sense that it’s not from amusement. I get the sense that it’s more from self-depreciation. “He was really, really nice to me, my professor. He was really nice. ...Until he wasn’t,” she shrugs her shoulders gently. “He made a move and I laughed it off. He made another, so I told him no. Then he pushed me, and the rest is history,” she sighs. _ No way… _ “I had to keep seeing him. I had to stick out that class for the rest of the year and listen to his lectures and his teachings. Every day for nine weeks, I had to see him — see his face — and try not to think about how he was so…” she sighs again, so I reach across the table and hold onto her arm. _ I’m here for you. I understand. _“It made me do a lot of things, Quinn. Okay? Moral to the story is that it made me do a lot of things, having to see him. I had outbursts. I did irrational things, said irrational things. All because I had to see him and pretend like everything was fine. And when I saw you standing there… yelling at him like that… I really took me back. I… I saw a lot of my own pain inside of you.”

_ You did…? Oh no… _

She wriggles her arm out of my grasp and grabs my hand. She squeezes it a little hard, which draws my eyes up to hers. We make eye contact. And she asks me, flat out. “Did Puck hurt you?”

You know that feeling when your entire body just gives up? And every strand that was holding you together just totally comes undone and you’re falling apart, crumbing, but you can’t stop it?

My face crumbles with new tears and I put my head down because I just don’t want her to see me like this anymore…

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I whisper to her.

Her face turns white when I say that. It’s translucent, almost. Kind of like she’s just seen a ghost. I even watch her tuck her chin into her chest like she’s swallowing some sort of vomit or something and it’s all because of me. _ Oh god, what must she think? She probably thinks that I’m saying I hate Beth! I mean Beth’s a product of rape, that’s what she’s hearing and she probably thinks I hate her and she’s NEVER going to let me see her again. _

“But I’m okay!” I wipe my tears for the millionth time tonight and try to pull myself together. “I’m okay. It’s okay, I’m dealing with it. It’s not a big deal. I’m dealing with it and I don’t want it to come between me and Beth. I understand if you want both of us in Beth’s life, me and him. I understand that and I can be civil with him. I swear I can do it. I can be civil if you want us both in her life, I can —“

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. It’s okay, that’s enough,” she holds her hands up and the way she tells me that it’s okay and that’s enough just makes me want to curl up in her arms. She is such a gentle human… “Have you told anybody?”

“...A little,” I admit and look away from her. “I told my mom but I really don’t think she believes me. And Rachel… and Mercedes… and Tina… and Mr. Schue… and now you…”

“Mr. Schue?” Her eyes widen. “You told Mr. Schue?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Nothing’s happening though. Everything is just —“

“You told Mr. Schue… and he still lets him perform with you guys and still makes you see him? Wow… okay… I—“

“I swear to god I don’t hate Beth,” I don’t know why I’m saying this because this is the part of it that I haven’t told anyone. This is the part of it that I have kept inside. “I thought I was going to, but when I see her I just see… everything good. Something good that came out of something so bad. And nothing is happening. I told people, but nothing is happening and I’m so confused because I don’t know what I want. Sometimes I want everything to happen and I want him to go away but then sometimes I don’t. It’s like I hate him… but I don’t know how to hate him. And I know you probably think this means I hate Beth, but I —“

“Quinn, I don’t think —“

“No, you do. You think I hate her. But I don’t. That’s not the reason I didn’t answer your texts or Facebook messages or calls before. I didn’t answer because I was so unsure about the adoption and I was afraid that if I saw her I would do something stupid or crazy to get her back but then I did do something stupid and crazy and I spent the whole summer locked up because of it!”

All of a sudden, she stands up. She stands up and slides out of the booth and that is officially it. She’s walking away because I’m crazy and I’m a nutcase and she doesn’t want me to have any influence on Beth and I don’t blame her. I don’t blame her… she’s walking away and I don’t blame her. I’d walk away from me too if I could…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, squeezing my arms tight across my chest as I cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Then I feel the cushion in the booth that I’m sitting inside of smush down. And before I can make sense of her presence being beside me all of a sudden, she puts her hands on my cheeks and forces me to look at her and stop saying “sorry.”

“Breathe,” she says. “Breathe. We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to figure out how to handle this and we’re going to figure out a way for you — only you — to see our daughter. But I need you to breathe first. Are you breathing?”

“I’m breathing,” I mutter.

“Okay. Then we’ll figure this out. I promise.”

* * *

Rachel is sleeping, which relieves more than it depresses me. I mean it does both, very equally, but I guess if I had to pick one emotion I’m feeling more prominently than the other, it would probably be relief because at least now I don’t have to tell her everything that me and Shelby talked about so soon after we talked about it.

Shelby gave me her number and I think I might actually utilize it. She’s going to text me on Monday when we’re all settled back in Ohio to see how I’m doing and to officially set things up for me to see Beth regularly. Before the left, she walked me to me and Rachel’s room and some part of me wanted to hug her but I didn’t know how to do that without it feeling awkward and misplaced. I think she wanted to hug me too, because she just stood there and looked at me. Neither one of us knew how to initiate it, so we just didn’t. 

As I tiptoed through the room and ducked into the bathroom to undress and take a shower to wash all the sadness and tears off of me, I started to feel calm. Like when Shelby told me to breathe and promised me that we would figure this out, I felt calm. Internally. I don’t have the words to describe it, but it’s a feeling that only Rachel has ever made me feel before. It’s like my entire mind is a whirlwind. It’s a desert storm and there’s wind and sand whipping all over the place. But then Shelby grabbed my face and told me to breathe and the storm stopped. And I felt calm. I’ve only ever felt that way the first time Rachel kissed me.

I am Beth’s babysitter now, that’s the arrangement. Shelby’s babysitter quit for another job with better pay, so I will now be watching Beth every Wednesday and Thursday from 4-8 and sometimes on Saturdays while she teaches weekend classes. I haven’t fully processed this yet so I don’t know if I’m more excited than scared, but I’m currently a little bit of both and I can’t wait to talk to Bailey about it.

As the thoughts flood my head, I watch the water go down the drain and it feels like it’s taking all my sadness with it. I turn around and let the spray hit my back. And Brittany noticed when she took a shower earlier that the floor is creaky if you step on it a certain way.

But I didn’t step on it that way. And Rachel is sleeping. So why do I hear something creaking? 

I pull the shower curtain back and poke my head outside it. And maybe I was wrong. Maybe I just _ thought _that Rachel was sleeping…

Because it’s her that is opening the bathroom door.


	37. Heaven In Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strong mature language in this chapter, so reader discretion is advised.

* * *

* * *

The door creaks and as soon as I see her poking her head through the little crack she made in the door, I pull the shower curtain back as quickly as I possibly can and pretend like I didn’t just see her come inside but holy hell she actually did come inside and I have to pinch the skin on my hip to make sure I’m not dreaming because why is she in here?! I’m in the shower!

_ What is she doing? She can’t be in here! Not that I don’t want her to see me naked because… well maybe I do care if she does see me naked because I’m really not at my best right now and this isn’t how this is supposed to happen but what is she doing? She can’t just come into the bathroom while I’m showering! I’m naked! And she’s not my girlfriend! ...Is she? I mean if she is then yeah I guess maybe she can see me naked but shouldn’t she ask first? Or like, warn me? Or… or something? What is she doing?! _

“Quinn?” she calls my name through the foggy steam and sounds of water beating down on the walls and floor. 

“...Yeah?” I say back, hesitantly at first. I stop scrubbing the washcloth over my body and freeze right where I am, in the middle of washing my stomach.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m… in the shower?”

“I know. I’m not looking or anything, I’m just checking. You gone an awful long time with Shelby and I just —“

“I’m fine. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow on the bus, okay? I’m seriously okay.”

“Okay,” I see the silhouette of her body and can tell that she’s nodding her head. “We’ll talk tomorrow, then.”

“Kay,” I say back and listen for the door closing behind her. When it does, I resume washing myself up quickly because I really am tired. It’s been such a long day and so full of every emotion humanly possible and I’m just really tired now. I need to finish this shower, dry myself off and go to sleep because we have another early morning tomorrow at chocolate world and I would hate to be sleepy for that.

_ It was nice that she came to check on me. I don’t know why, but sometimes I feel like she doesn’t really care about me but then she does little things like come inside the bathroom just to make sure I’m okay and then I’m reminded that she must care about me. I don’t know what this thing between me and her is going to amount to, if it even amounts to anything. But I guess the only thing I can do for now is just wait it out and play it by ear and see where things go. I just hope I’m able to do that. I hope that I don’t freak out when she talks to Finn or want to hate her when she looks at him like she might not be over him. I hope I’m able to keep the relationship with her exactly what it needs to be, whatever that is. I don’t know if I can. But I guess we’ll see. _

_ I wonder if Shelby is still going to let Puck see Beth. By the way she reacted to me telling her what I told her, I don’t think she is going to let him see her anymore but then again, she also sounded like she might have a solution for the issue and I wonder what that solution could be. I guess I can understand her if she doesn’t. I mean, it’s not like Puck hurt Beth or anything like that, so I guess technically she doesn’t have a reason to keep him away from her and maybe if she keeps him away from her, it’ll hurt Beth in the long run. Then again, I don’t know if she’d really be missing out by not knowing him. Shelby’s great, for the most part. She seems really attentive when it comes to Beth and she seems like she genuinely cares about her best interest. She’d do an awesome job raising Beth alone so it’s not like not having her father in her life would be a huge detriment. Sometimes having no father at all is better than having a bad guy as one, and I guess by all logic, Puck is a bad guy... _

_ I wish Mom would have just left Dad at the first sign of trouble. I wish she’d have packed up her things and packed me and Frannie’s things too, and left him the first time he raised his fist up to hit her. Maybe then my life would be different. _

That’s enough thinking for the rest of the weekend. When I get back to Lima and see the psychiatrist then see Bailey again on Saturday, I’ll have a lot of time to comb through my emotions and think about all the things I could spend hours in this shower thinking about. It’s enough for the rest of the weekend, though. Sectionals has been pretty decent so far and I’m going to end it on an even more decent note. Tomorrow is chocolate world and it’s all about fun and getting sugar high and plus me and Rachel are on better terms than we started this trip on. No more sad thoughts for the weekend. I’m turning them off.

When I step out of the shower and onto the extra towel that I put down so I don’t get the floor all soaking wet, I grab my towel off the back of the toilet seat and start drying myself off with it.

When me and Frannie had bad days at school, Mom always used to tell us that it was “nothing a good hot bath can’t fix.” Then she’d go upstairs and run us our bath water. If it was a really bad day, she’d let us take a bath in her and dad’s bathroom, in the tub with all the really relaxing water jets. I don’t know how she did it, but she always made sure the water was just the right amount of steaming hot and lukewarm, and she always put the perfect amount of bubbles in the water.

I miss that version of Mom. The version that existed before Dad wormed his way into her brain and wore her down. That version of Mom didn’t care if she got paint on her old blue jeans, as long as me and Frannie were laughing with her while we were fingerpainting. That version of her would kiss my nose before bed and tell me “goodnight, my beautiful little birdie” because she knew that the kids would tease me for my nose at school. That version of her was the one who brushed Frannie’s hair every night and rubbed the special lotion on her psoriasis. I wonder if that version of Mom is still alive somewhere.

She was right, by the way. There’s nothing that nice hot water can’t cure. Even as I step down into my clean underwear and secure them on my waist, I notice how much better I feel after that shower.

After I put my pajama shorts and baggy t-shirt back on, I turn the light off then open the door to me and Rachel’s room and I’m a little bit surprised but not at all shocked that Rachel isn’t sleeping the way I thought she was when I came into the room earlier. She is lying down in her bed with her phone close to her face, just scrolling.

I tiptoe over to my own bed and pull the blankets back so I can get inside, and I start to realize that I really missed her. I missed the parts of her that are strictly reserved for me. You know, all day today, I had to share her. In the room before rehearsal, I had to share her with Beth and Shelby and then during rehearsal, the group needed her. Then once it was time to perform, I had to share her with the entire crowd; allow them to see just a little glimpse of how special she is. I thought I would get her back a little bit after we won, but Mr. Schue called for that impromptu pizza party to celebrate and I was right back to sharing her with everyone again — with Kurt and Blaine and Finn. Then I went off and did my own thing with Shelby and now that I’m lying down and it’s just us again, it’s starting to set in that I really missed her today.

There are two Rachel Berrys just like there are two Quinn Fabrays. The Rachel I get is the one that is away from the crowds and the spotlight and all the friends who love her. That Rachel is… well… she’s everything. She’s gentle when she wants to be, and strong when she needs to be. She isn’t afraid to hold my hand or look me in my eyes or touch my hair. My Rachel isn’t selfish or self centered. She is selfless and giving — she gives me everything she has.

I roll over onto my side and try to get comfortable amongst the four pillows and the heavy quilt on this bed. I sure am tired, so I don’t think it’ll be long before I fall asleep.

_ I really want to talk to her even though I’m sure we’re both exhausted, but I don’t really know how. I don’t know how to strike up a conversation with her. I don’t want to start telling her about me and Shelby because that can be a bit depressing and I swore that I’m done with the depressing stuff, at least until we’re on the bus ride back to Lima. I’m sick of talking about how good it felt to win because when I do that, I remember the feeling and I start to get depressed over missing it again. I want to talk to her so badly. But I’m just not sure how to do it, and I’m not sure what we should talk about… _

_ Wait a minute. _I’m glad that it’s dark because that means she can’t see me and she can’t see the way I’m grinning all of a sudden. I’m grinning, because it just occurred to me that I have a way of dealing with this because it worked before and I’m pretty sure it’s foolproof. It worked before, it’ll work again. I know it will.

I roll over onto my opposite side and grab ahold of my phone. Still grinning to myself, I unlock my phone and pull up our text message thread. My thumbs fly across the screen as I start typing it out.

**iMessage**

**Saturday, October 26**

**11:51 p.m.**

**ME: **you can go back to sleep. i’m ok.

**11:52 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Yeah I honestly probably won’t be able to sleep tonight at all. I can never get comfortable in a hotel bed. I’ll try in a little bit anyway though.

  
And just like that, I know what I have to do. I don’t know if it’s the girlfriend thing to do or if I’m just doing it because I genuinely care about her getting some rest for that beautiful face tonight, but I lock my phone and push the blankets off of my body. I don’t think she knows what I’m about to do, because she doesn’t even look up from her phone. She keeps scrolling through whatever app she’s scrolling through and doesn’t pay any attention to me and my shuffling around.

With my phone still in tow, I drag my feet across the room and over to the other side of her bed. Only when I start to untuck the blankets on the undisturbed side so I can climb into it with her does she finally look over her shoulder.

“What are you…” she turns toward me.

“I’m gonna lay with you until you fall asleep,” I explain, making myself comfortable underneath the blankets with her. “Move over a little.”

She hesitates at first, but scoots over enough so I have room to be comfortable too, and that’s really the end of it. We don’t say anything else to each other, we just lie there. She has her phone that she’s paying attention to, and I have mine. And I’m not sure how long I’m going to last. My eyelids are droopy and heavy and I’m yawning every ten seconds, but at least she knows that I’m here. She knows that I’m here and I’m in this bed with her and maybe that’s enough to make her feel comfortable enough to fall asleep.

Just as my eyelids flutter shut, my phone buzzes against my chest and they snap open.

**New iMessage**

**Saturday, October 26**

**11:55 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Thank you

**RACHEL: **Sorry I didn’t do it earlier.

**ME: **what?

**RACHEL: **I didn’t kiss you. Before we went on stage. I was going to. But then I saw everybody and I got scared of what they might say. Sorry I didn’t do it. I should have done it.

**ME: **it’s no big deal. i got scared too.

**RACHEL: **Okay. Goodnight.

**ME: **night.

**11:59 p.m.**

**ME: **hey rachel?

**New iMessage**

**Sunday, October 27**

**12:00 a.m.**

**RACHEL: **Yeah?

**ME: **...maybe we should only ever kiss in private.

**RACHEL: **I think you might be onto something.

**RACHEL: **Quinn?

**ME: **rachel?

**RACHEL: **We’re in private right now…

I lock my phone up as soon as I read her response and suddenly, I’m wide awake. I was so exhausted a minute ago and ready to fall asleep at any given second, but I’ve got a second wind or something. My eyes are wide open and I’m not even tired anymore. _ She’s right. We are in private. And after a long day of missing her, I really do want to kiss her… but how do I just… do it? _

I could start by just like, leaning in or something. I could just lean in and tilt my head and close my eyes and let her do the rest. Or I could just roll over and ignore that text and not kiss her at all. Sure I really want to kiss her more than anything in this world, but ignoring her might be better than getting all embarrassed and stuff if I miss her mouth. And that could happen, by the way. It’s dark in this room with the only light illuminating from her phone and I can’t see much so I could definitely lean in to kiss her lips but miss and kiss her nose or her chin instead. God, what do I do?

_ I never make the first move. It’s always her. _

Okay, I’m right. I never make the first move on her. She literally always leans in and initiates the kiss first and she’s probably going to start thinking that I don’t want to kiss her which is very far from the truth. Okay. I’ll make the first move this time. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, we kiss all the time… well… just three times now, I think... but still…. I shouldn’t be nervous. Should I?

After taking a deep breath, I scoot closer to her in the bed and lean in far so I can see her mouth before I close my eyes, tilt my head and just go for it. She lifts her head up off the pillow to meet my lips halfway, and then they touch. Her lips are against mine and mine are against hers and there’s no tongue in sight. None.

And that’s it. It was a simple kiss, a really chaste little one with no tongue or swapping spit. Just two pairs of lips touching and two girls too unsteady and unsure to go any further with it. I pull away first, then she follows my lead. Both of us lie back down on our respective pillows, and I lick my lips just to make sure I get every single inch of her off of my lips and into my mouth. She holds her phone up by her face for a few moments while she types something out, and I’m not surprised when my phone buzzes.

**iMessage**

**Sunday, October 27**

**12:03 a.m.**

**RACHEL: **Can I call you my girlfriend now?

**ME: **only if i can call you mine.

**RACHEL: **Deal.

**RACHEL: **…But maybe only in private.

**ME: **only in private.

And with that, the two of us both lock our phones and roll over to face each other. She slips her hand inside mine and I squeeze hers. And we both close our eyes just like that. 

We close our eyes and prepare to give ourselves to sleep.

* * *

I swear the bus driver is making it his own personal mission to hit every pothole on the road this morning, and I’m not quite sure just how far away the hotel is from the park, but I hope it’s far enough for me to get a good nap in because I am exhausted and there’s no way I’m going to enjoy myself today if I don’t get some kind of power nap in.

I don’t know how long we’ve been driving, but I do know that every time I feel like I’m finally falling asleep, the fucking driver hits the world’s deepest pothole and jolts me awake and makes me want to go up there and hang him by his ankles. Somehow, I’m the one that keeps waking up. Every time I put my head against the window and fall asleep, I’m the one being jolted awake and Rachel’s head somehow stays neatly against my shoulder and she remains sleeping.

When he hits the latest pothole, I completely give up on sleep. I mean yeah, sure I’m exhausted and would kill for a bed and a pillow right now, but if worst comes to worst, I can just sleep on the bus ride home. I’ll be miserable walking around Chocolate World and I’ll probably have a headache, but at least I’m with Rachel and at least I can say that I visited HersheyPark. And maybe once I eat some chocolate I’ll have some energy.

Since nobody is really looking at us, I lean my head down and press my lips to her forehead, then I make sure that our hands — fingers laced inside each other’s — are still hidden by our legs.

I feel different today, and I think it’s a good different. It’s so different that if I think about it for too long, I’ll probably start to cry because I could have easily gone my entire life without feeling this kind of different and I don’t know if and when it’s going to wear off. I feel like the world makes a little bit more sense to me, like I’m no longer looking through the lenses of kid goggles. There was an innocence about me that left me naive and gullible, an innocence that has been shattered and thus leaving me feeling different. I feel a little bit clearer now. I feel like I understand the things now that I didn’t before, and it’s a big change… one that literally happened overnight.

As I stare down at her laying on my shoulder and feel the warmth of her hand inside mine, I didn’t think that it was possible for me to feel this way about someone. I feel like if she wasn’t here weighing me down, that I would just float up into the sky and be lost forever. It’s a connection unlike anything I’ve ever felt; powerful, and I don’t have the words to describe it. It’s like… like she showed me the way and I am hers forever because of it. Like she’s…food or something, only… I didn’t know that I was hungry until she showed up. It’s unreal, honestly. And it feels like I could move heaven and earth as long as it’s to be with her…

_ Still facing each other with our eyes closed and our bodies poised to fall asleep, she slowly slides her hand out of mine and for a moment, I think that it’s maybe because she can’t sleep while she’s holding my hand. Which is fine, really. Some people can’t sleep in socks, some people can’t sleep in a bra. Other people can’t sleep while someone is holding their hand. _

_ She said that hotel rooms don’t make her comfortable enough to sleep and I believe that’s true, but then I’m wondering what the excuse for me is because I’ve been in too many hotels to count and I’ve never had trouble sleeping until tonight. We laid here hand in hand for at least twenty minutes before she took her hand out of mine and I’m glad that it seems that she is going to finally be able to get some sleep, but I don’t know when I’ll be able to. _

_ When she wriggles her hand out of mine, I halfway expect her to put it underneath her pillow or something; somewhere for her to get comfortable. What I don’t expect is for her to actually drape her arm across my waist and have the palm of her hand resting just above my butt. I’m surprised, but she’s my girlfriend now and I don’t want her to think that it’s not okay for her to touch me because it is. It is more than okay for her to touch me, actually. So I scoot a little closer to her and I hesitate. I want to touch her too, so bad… _

_ And it seems like she just touched me absentmindedly. She didn’t think about putting her arm against my waist and didn’t think about the placement of her hand when she did it. She just did it without thinking and I want to do the same. So I reach across in the tiny bit of empty space between us, and cup my hand around her hip. She sighs like she’s comfortable when I touch her, and my thumb mindlessly strokes her hip. _

_ And it’s almost like she’s not close enough to me or something. I mean, we’re already pretty close to each other and I can feel her breathing against my skin, but it’s like she wants to be even closer. And so I do I, without violating her space. I want to be as close to Rachel as possible. So when she scoots even closer to me and closes all the empty space between us, it’s needless to say how happy I am. _

_ Our chests are pressed together, legs tangled up in one another. Her face is tucked into my neck and my chin is resting on top of her silky hair. I can smell the scent of her shampoo and feel her heart beating and I for one second, I’m starting to believe that this what heaven looks like. Heaven is right here, her against my chest and my arms wrapped around her body. _

_ When she lifts her head up a little, I take my chin off of her to let her, and she tilts her face up to me. And she pauses there, like she’s silently asking me to do what I do next. So I close my eyes and press my lips to hers the same way I did all those minutes ago. Only, except this time, she parts her lips for me. So I know that it’s okay to let my tongue out from behind its cage of teeth. _

_ Our tongues meet somewhere in the middle and my arms loosen up from around her body so that my hands can roam her. My fingertips, they trace the bones underneath her skin. Her ribs and then her spine. Every part of her seems so delicate, every part of her I want to know. Her hands slide up my back and her palms stop at the base of my neck. Her fingers twist and tangle themselves up into the lengths of my hair, gripping like she needs me more and more and I pull away. Not because I’m done kissing her but because I need her in the same way she needs me. _

_ My lips, they move down from hers. I kiss her on her jaw, her eyelids flutter shut. I kiss her on her neck and her hands hold my head right where it’s at. And it’s the first time that I notice how she tastes. With my lips wrapped around the soft skin on her neck, she tastes the way her cocoa butter body wash smells. And a little bit salty. Her fingertips dance around the rim of my shirt, so I lean up and I take it off and I toss it off the bed and I want to go back to kissing her, but she stops me with a hand on my shoulder. _

_ Hand on my bare shoulder, eyes low and looking at my empty, exposed torso. She stares at me like she’s making herself familiar with the way I look. Her hand is gentle with the way it travels down my body. Past my shoulder, her palm grazes my nipple and I don’t feel like I want to cover up. I want her to see me, every part of me, the good and the bad. The skinny and the stretch marks. She stops at my navel, then her eyes flicker back up and meet mine. Then she pulls me in for another kiss and I’m really craving her. Craving her touch and her scent and her taste and her presence. _

_ She pulls away just as the kiss gets super intense and before I can really process anything, her shirt is over her head and tossed onto the floor too. And I can’t see much because it’s so dark in here, but I can see enough to know that she is perfect. I touch her the same way she touched me and her skin is so velvety underneath of my fingertips. _

_ I pull her in for another kiss, our bare chests up against each other and bodies sharing the warmth. The heat is electric between us and our current is strong. Her kisses are so hypnotizing — so mesmerizing — that I don’t realize what I’m doing until it’s already done and somehow I manage to do it without breaking our kiss. _

_ My pajama shorts are down around my ankles and still kissing her, I nudge them off the bed with my feet. She breaks our kiss for what has to be only a moment, but it feels like an eternity without her lips against mine. She breaks the kiss so that she can swing one of her legs onto the other side of me. I’m laying down, and as she is straddling me, I put the palms of my hands against the small of her back and pull her back down to kiss me. _

_ She tosses a thick curtain of hair over her shoulder and out of the way and when she breaks the kiss this time, she leaves my lips with a small bite. When she moves her lips to my neck, a tingle arches across my scalp and races down to the middle of me. I get the chills and close my eyes because suddenly her hands are all over me and it feels like how it felt when Puck’s hands were all over me — like she has a million hands and they’re doing a million things — but I actually want her hands to touch me. _

_ Her fingers slip underneath the waistband of my underwear and tug them down and I’m back there again. I’m back in that bed with the playboy magazines and the baseball cards staring down at me and the sound of my underwear ripping is ringing in my ears and stop… she has to stop, she has to not do this, she has to not touch me there. I want this out… I want this out of my head, I want this gone because I want to do this. I want to do this with Rachel. I want to do this with her but how am I supposed to if I’m back there again? And I’m watching myself from the corner of the room? And he’s big and he’s mean and he won’t let me go? _

_ “Wait,” I whisper, running my fingers through her beautiful brown hair. She leans up and looks down at me, blankets collected all around her waist as she’s straddling me. _

_ “Am I doing something wrong?” she whispers back. _

_ “No,” I shake my head and start to realize that neither of us know what the hell we’re doing, but it’s another thing we’ll have to figure out together. “You’re just so…” I cup my hands around her waist and look up at her, half-naked and exposed, so… “beautiful.” _

_ She puts her head down like she’s blushing, so I take the moment to guide her onto the pillow beside us so she’s lying down. I want this so badly and I just… I don’t want this to be another thing that Puck gets to have, you know? I don’t want to make this just one more thing he gets to add to the list of things he’s taken from me. _

_ She parts her legs to let me lie between them, and I kiss the middle of her chest then work my way out. She sucks in a deep breath when my lips graze her boob, and I can feel her legs tighten when I bite the bullet and pull one into my mouth. She rubs the back of my head with easy fingers and putting aside the full breakdown I was so close to having, I just want to hear her moan. _

_ I want to know what that sounds like. I want to hear what it sounds like for me to be the one who makes her do that. _

_ She sighs hard when I swirl my tongue around in the circle of her, and I start to feel like I know. _

_ It’s happening just the way Santana said it would. The moment is here and maybe I was a little clueless at first as to what I should do and how I should move my tongue and shape my lips. But it’s just a matter of making her feel good. In this moment, all I care about is making her feel good and suddenly, I know how to do that. It all just clicked and activated and once I put those thoughts of being in Puck’s room behind me, I knew exactly how to use it. _

_ I take my lips away from her chest, but her eyes stay closed. And it’s like all of a sudden, I can’t wait or something. Because it’s almost animalistic the way I grab onto her pajama pants and pull them off, like a starved lion the way I pull at her underwear and don’t wait for her to elevate her hips to tell me get them off. They’re off in fifteen seconds flat and I bawl them up and toss them to the floor like the inconvenience they are. _

_ I’ve wanted this for so very long. I’ve had dreams about this, I’ve fantasized about this, I’ve wanted this so bad that I could taste it. And now that it’s finally happening… well… now I just have to make all my dreams a reality. _

_ She must have thought something was going to happen between us and I only say that because last night when we were in the same situation and got interrupted by Tina moving in the bed, my fingers were met with a soft, fluffy tuft to shiny black hair. Now tonight when I brush my fingers across her, she is smooth and she is bare. She is soft. And I never thought I’d say this about another woman, much less another woman’s parts. But I swear to god I felt my mouth water. _

_ She has a layer of very fine hairs on the inside of her thighs, and she takes a deep breath in when I brush my lips along it. I’m nervous, at first. Not the kind of nervous that’s going to stop me from doing it, but the kind of nervous that is going to make it that much more satisfying when I do. It’s the kind of nervous that makes my body bubble with anticipation, makes my fingers tremble at the thought of being inside her. _

_ My eyes are closed when my tongue makes the first move. And maybe there’s a part of me that has them closed because I’m nervous, but the parts of me that really matter have my eyes closed because I don’t want to focus on the way she looks. I want to focus on the way she tastes and the way she smells because I want to make a memory of this. My tongue glides from the bottom to the stop, circling at the pearl. She jolts away from like in a surprised kind of way, like she didn’t know my tongue was going to go there. And I hold her still once I know that I’m not hurting her. _

_ And my fingers are bursting, they need to know what lies inside of her, but I make them be patient. Patient while I make myself familiar with every single one of her folds. Her breathing grows unsteady and her jaw hangs open. When I look up at her and see that one hand is covering her face while the other is gripping her hair, it makes me want to do it that much more. And then my tongue digs inside and that’s when she makes a noise, but it’s a gasp not a moan and I really want to hear her moan. _

_ My middle finger is the first to go, and it slips right into her glistening, shimmery pink. It’s slow at first, letting her adjust to having it there. In and out, round and round, she grips at her hair and breathes very hard. I add an extra one in there gradually, and that’s when the moan comes. _

_ And it’s every bit of the kind of beautiful I thought it would be, too. And it drives me absolutely insane when I hear it because I just go crazy, almost. It’s two fingers at a steady rhythm, not too slow but not too fast, and slightly curled. And it’s my tongue flickering across the most sensitive part of her in the same rhythm, but much gentler. Just as second nature as Santana said it would be. _

_ And then the whole room is filled with the sounds of her moans and she is pulling at my hair and bucking her hips and she is hot. All around my fingers, she is twitching and hot and it’s happening so fast that I almost stop but I’d never forgive myself if I got her there but didn’t finish. _

_ She arches her back when it happens and her toes curl up underneath her feet. And she whimpers like a moan is trying to get out but she won’t let it. _

_ And I don’t believe in magic, but this is the closest I’ll ever get to something being magical. _

Still, nobody is looking, so I lean down and give her another kiss on her forehead because I feel just as much love for her now as I did last night and when you feel that much love for someone, it’s hard to keep it hidden.

It happened for me, too. After she came down from the high that me and my fingers had put her on, she took a moment to catch her breath and I laid there on the pillow beside her, smiling because I knew that I didn’t blow it and I wasn’t completely horrible at it for it being my first time ever doing that. She breathed hard and heavy and then she turned and looked at me and she kissed my neck.

I thought we were done for the night because she was done and I didn’t really care if she returned the favor. In that moment, all I cared about was the fact that I had gotten her to finish and that alone was enough to make me go to sleep happy. And plus, I didn’t think that she’d be able to do it back because for her to do it back, she’d have to take my underwear off and my stupid brain couldn’t let her get past that point. But she kept kissing my neck and I felt warm all over, but especially between my legs.

And I was nervous when she put her hand down the front of my underwear, nervous because it had been about a week since I’d shaved myself. But she didn’t care. She kissed my neck and kept her hand between my legs and by the time she took my underwear off, I’d forgotten all about Puck and what he did to me.

She was better than me, I’ll say that right now. She knew all the right things to do and all the right ways to do them. She opened her fingers, closed them. Opened them, closed them. Curled them, uncurled them. Moved them fast, then slow. And when it happened, it was like the moment when you close your eyes then rub them and you see the color exploding all over the place. It was colors exploding like fireworks all across my body, but it didn’t last long because I moaned. I moaned and suddenly that sounded a lot like a cry to me. Then I was back again, back underneath of Puck and crying and asking him to stop.

My memory comes back in pieces, and both Bailey and Jessica say that it’s normal for it to come back when things remind me of it. Like the way it came back when Mom was restraining me. It came back full force again because moaning sounded like crying and crying sounded a whole lot like me, stuffed up underneath of Puck, not able to breathe but somehow being able to say, “you can stop now.”

I thought it would bother me when she kissed me. She picked her head up from between my legs and her face still shined with her saliva and my orgasm. She just wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then leaned in and kissed me and I thought it would bother me when she did that. But it didn’t. In some odd way, it made me feel even closer to her than I already did.

I guess the entire time, I’ve been struggling to find the answer to the question of why. Why was what Puck did to me rape? Not just a bad sexual encounter that I wish I hadn’t had? When someone rapes you, aren’t you supposed to scream? Aren’t you supposed to say “no” over and over again? Aren’t you supposed to fight them off?

I get it now, it’s very clear, actually. And I have nothing but the sex with Rachel to attribute it to.

I didn’t want that. What me and Puck did that night was not consensual on my part. It was nothing like what me and Rachel did, I didn’t want it as fully as I wanted it with her. He held me down and took it because he wanted it and just because I didn’t scream or explicitly say no or physically fight him does not change the fact that I didn’t want him to put himself inside of me. I did not give him permission to do it. And now….

Well now I’m just sad that my first time couldn’t have been with Rachel. I’m just sad that I couldn’t feel the fireworks of my first real orgasm because of what he did to me.

“Alright guys,” Mr. Schue stands up as the bus comes to a stop. “We’re here. Chocolate World.”

I nudge Rachel — the love of my life — awake very gently and smile as she wakes up. But even though I’m smiling, I’m still just sad.

Sad because that is just another thing to add to the list of things that Puck has stolen from me.


	38. Be Alright

_ October 28 _

_ I’ve finally found the time to sit down and open this back up again, and I didn’t realize how much I actually missed journaling until now. I’m sorry that it’s been so long, it’s just they I really haven’t had the time since I moved in with the Joneses. But things seem to be settling now, so I think maybe I might have found a rhythm again. _

_ We won sectionals. It still feels a bit surreal to say that and I still think that at any point, I’m going to wake up from a dream and find that it’s still two weeks before the competition and we’re actually still rehearsing. We won and me and Brittany did our dance break together and I did really well and I’m still trying to figure out how it’s possible for me to be so unhappy. _

_ It’s like I don’t want good things to happen to me anymore, because the good things happen and then I get sad that they won’t happen again. Deeply sad, too. The kind of sad that sits in your stomach and makes your bones ache. Like as soon as we got off stage after we found out we won, I was instantly sad because the moment was over. It was a sadness that started to consume me and overwhelm me and I’d rather lose every competition than to feel the way I felt. _

_ And then I had sex with Rachel, like full on sex. And it was enough to make me happy while it was happening and then it took a really long time for me to feel the way I currently feel about it. After it happened, we rolled over onto our separate sides of the bed, then we closed our eyes and fell asleep. When we woke up in the morning, I was expecting to feel terrible about it, because me and sex don’t have the best track record. And I didn’t. I didn’t feel terrible about it, at least not right away. I didn’t start to feel terrible about it until we were on the bus ride home and I was thinking about it a little more deeply. _

_ I feel ashamed, if that makes any sense. Not ashamed of Rachel and not ashamed of how I made her feel when we were having sex, but just ashamed in a really big way. I felt like we had done something wrong. And I know that we’re both seventeen and most kids our age are having sex, so I really shouldn’t feel like we did something wrong, but I do. I feel like we did something so very, terribly wrong and I can’t shake it. What makes it worse is that I know if I had sex with a boy, I wouldn’t feel so ashamed. It’s because Rachel’s a girl that I feel the way I do. _

_ When we got home from Hershey yesterday, Mrs. Jones picked me and Mercedes up from the school and me and Mercedes had the same idea. We wanted to go home, take showers, eat, then go to sleep until school the next morning. But Mrs. Jones took a different turn than the one that would take us home, and me and Mercedes looked at each other. She ended up taking us for dinner at Denny’s. She said she wanted to celebrate with us because we won our competition and that is a very big deal, and I just remember feeling like maybe I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I know Mom’s my mother and Dad is my father, but I felt like maybe the Jones house is where I’m supposed to live. Mom would have never taken me out to celebrate sectionals. She probably wouldn’t have even asked how we placed. _

_ I don’t know what I was expecting from school today, but I do know that it wasn’t what I was expecting. _

_ I guess maybe I was expecting that me and Rachel would be different. I guess I was expecting for us to walk down the hallway holding hands or to look at each other differently because we’ve seen each others naked. I guess I was expecting for the hallways of McKinley to feel a little bit different. But they were all the same. There was no hand holding for me and Rachel, and things were back to normal because we hardly even seen each other except at lunch. Nothing was different and everything was the same and now I’m starting to wonder if we really had sex or not. _

_ I see the psychiatrist tomorrow, which makes me nervous. I wish I were seeing Bailey instead because I kind of miss her and need her right now. _

_ I wonder if she misses me too. _

* * *

_ October 29 _

_ I wonder what the psychiatrist will be like. _

_ The one I met while I was in treatment wasn’t very warm. He was a big, burgeoning presence who looked at me from across the desk and told me that he thought I was fine. I only saw him once in the entire 90 days I was there and that one time, he signed a paper and told me to just keep going to therapy. _

_ The one I see in a few hours is a girl, I think. Her name is Dr. Windburn and her office is right across the street from Dad’s company. I wonder if she’s going to be nice or if she’s going to be a stuck up know it all like the male psychiatrist I saw. I wonder if she’s going to tell me after only one visit that I’m fine and just need to keep going to therapy. I wonder if she’s going to judge me. I wonder how much of my issues Bailey has discussed with her. _

_ I’m in study hall now, which means I only have three more periods to get through before it’s time for me to go home and wait in nervous anxiety for it to be 5:00 and time for my appointment. I wish it was a normal Tuesday and I was seeing Bailey. I just want to talk to her and ask her some questions about what I’m supposed to do and say with the psychiatrist. The only thing she told me was that Dr. Windburn is really good at her job and she likes working under her, but that doesn’t tell me anything I need to know. _

_ I didn’t even eat lunch today, I’m so nervous. Rachel sat next to me and we held hands under the table at lunch. She even offered me one of those chocolate hostess cupcakes with the white squiggle on top. The chocolate ones are my favorite but I couldn’t even eat it because I felt like I was going to need to run to the bathroom. My stomach has been churning all day since I woke up and I just feel so nauseous. I wonder if I can cancel my appointment and reschedule it for another time after I talk to Bailey. _

_ I have so much I need to talk to Bailey about before I’m ready to go talk to the psychiatrist. Like first of all, I need to tell her about what happened with me and Shelby and Beth. And then I need to tell her how I’m supposed to start babysitting Beth tomorrow but I don’t know if I actually am because Shelby told me to text her on Monday to let her know how late Mr. Schue is having glee club this week, but I never did text her because I’m super nervous. _

_ And then I need to tell her about what me and Rachel did. I need her to know that I keep having these flashbacks to what Puck did and I need to stop them if I’m ever going to be a good enough girlfriend for Rachel. I need Bailey. I can’t see a psychiatrist today, not with the way I’m feeling. I need Bailey. I need  _

“Miss Fabray?” Mrs. Vince hangs up the phone that I didn’t even hear ring and stands by the door, calling my name. I put my pencil down and look at her like I’ve done something that she needs to punish me for. “You’re wanted in the office. Take your things.”

_ Bailey came! I know we said that she wouldn’t come today because I meet with the psychiatrist today and I’ll see her on Saturday at her office instead of today in school, but she came! That’s the only reason I’m ever called out of study hall, so I know it’s her. She came… she must have known how much I would need her today, and she came. _

I stuff my notebook into my backpack and hoist it onto my shoulders and I leave the classroom without ever even looking back.

_ Okay, so where am I going to start? I think I’ll start with telling her about me and Rachel. That’ll shock her, but there won’t be that much to talk about in regards to that and then we can spend the majority of our session talking about how Shelby asked me to watch Beth. That’s what I need the most help with right now, I think. And then I’ll sprinkle in a little bit about how I’m still having these horrible flashbacks about Puck. I won’t tell her about Shelby because Shelby’s story isn’t my story to tell and I don’t want to violate her privacy. Oh and DAMMIT! I forgot her Reese’s Cup! At Chocolate World, I bought her this giant two pound Reese’s Cup because they’re her favorite and I left it at home because I wasn’t supposed to see her today! Dammit! _

Mrs. Vince said that I’m wanted in the office, so I round the corner and pass the cafeteria to get there. I usually go down to the video room where we keep all the broadcasting equipment. That’s usually where me and Bailey meet. But there’s a meeting after school for the broadcasting committee and I’m willing to bet that she had to use the extra office in the back to see me.

When I get to the office and pull the door open, there is no Bailey. There’s the secretaries and there’s Figgins, but no sign of Bailey. And I feel like I’m about to cry when I don’t see her, because I really wanted to see her today and if she’s not here that must mean I’m in trouble of some sort.

I stand off into the corner of the office, waiting for someone to see me and tell me why they asked me to come down here in the first place.  _ Is it about Puck? I told Shelby… and she seemed pretty upset… did she tell someone? She said she wouldn’t. But that has to be what this is about. I’ve never done anything else. I’m a good girl, I’m never in trouble. Well, maybe just that one time when I pushed Puck into the wall and yelled at him. But that wasn’t really bad. And that happened like last week so if I was going to get in trouble for it, wouldn’t they have done it already? _

I feel my throat starting to burn as my stomach clenches and I’m about to throw up. And even though I still want to cry because I wanted to see Bailey and she’s clearly not here, I feel all the tension and the worry in my shoulders and body just… release.

It’s not Bailey. But I’m super relieved when I see Mrs. Jones stand up from behind the wall she was hidden by.

* * *

I chew on the straw of my almost-gone smoothie and follow Mrs. Jones like a duckling as she weaves through the men’s underwear aisle to get to the furniture section of the store. I still don’t know why I’m here instead of finishing out the last few periods of the school day, but I also haven’t really questioned it either. I don’t really feel like I’m in the position to question anything, honestly. She came to the school, said she wanted to pick me up early and I just went along with it because why not?

I was a nervous wreck in school anyway.

I still couldn’t eat much when she drove away from school and down the highway and pulled into the parking lot of Texas Roadhouse, which is how I know that I’m really in no shape to see a psychiatrist today. Usually, I would eat an entire basket of bread and butter at Texas Roadhouse and I’d probably sneak into the bathroom to throw it up before we leave, but I didn’t even touch the bread and butter today. I ordered a strawberry smoothie and a bowl of soup while I watched Mrs. Jones eat her steak. And it looked good. With the onions and the butter and the mushrooms and stuff. It looked good. But it didn’t look great to me.

I thought that was going to be it. I thought maybe she just pulled me out of school today to go and get lunch as some kind of weird bonding experience that me and my real mother would never have, but I got into the car again and she didn’t go back up the highway to go home. Instead, she crossed the shopping plaza and we ended up here, walking the aisles of TJ Maxx.

Me and Mrs. Jones finally stop walking once we reach the furniture and decorations section, and I just watch as she picks up a white and gray couch pillow set that would match Mercedes’ quilt really nicely. And she squeezes them to make sure they’re soft, then examines them from every angle to make sure they’re not ripped or dirty. Then, once the pillows pass the test, she puts them into the shopping cart and looks around some more.

“‘Cedes been talking about wanting new pillows for her bed. I was gonna get ‘em for her for Christmas, but these is cute. Don’t you think?” she asks me.

“Mhm,” I nod my head and put my empty cup into the top part of the cart. “They match her room.”

“Yeah they do,” she wheels the cart over to the pictures and wall canvases. “But that’s all that spoiled child is getting up outta me for the rest of the week. She just ordered a hundred bucks wortha clothes on my American Express.”

I laugh softly, “Sounds like Mercedes.”

“Sure does,” she stops at the bedroom sets and looks over the entire wall filled with blankets and quilts and comforter sets. There are so many options… “We came here for you,” she says. “I know you probably don’t like that ugly green set that used to be for ‘Kel’s room. Pick out your own.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine, really. It’s just a bed and blankets, I’m fine with the green. Really, I am. I’m fine,” I shake my head.  _ Is that the reason she brought me here? Is that really the reason? If so… wow. Wow, but I’m fine. I mean, I’m flattered and extremely grateful, but I’m fine. It’s just blankets. Yeah, the green is dark and looks ugly like a jungle but it’s just a blanket to cover my body with. _

“Quinn, now listen,” she grabs me by the arm and pulls me to where she’s standing, so I can get a better look at all the options. “You’re getting a new bedspread and bedroom decorations today. Now I’ll pick the theme myself if you won’t, but it’ll be a lot better if you pick it ‘cause at least then you’ll like it.”

“I’ll like anything you pick out. Anything at all.”

“My goodness, child! If you don’t pick out one that you like! ‘Cedes said you can be difficult and there I was, defending you and saying that it’s ‘cause you’re sweet! Listen to me. We want you to be comfortable while you’re staying with us. So might as well get used to me buying you things. Pick out a damn bedroom set that you like. I’ll be over by the lamps.”

_ What did I do to deserve them? I mean seriously, what did I do to deserve them? They’re so nice and so good to me and they actually care about me and… and I’m me. _

_ The door is just a few aisles over from where we’re standing, and Mrs. Jones is too engrossed in looking at lampshades to really notice and pay attention to me. I could just duck right out the door. I’d leave the cell phone they bought me in the cart and just… go. I don’t know where I would go, but I have some money left over from the money Mom gave me to take to Hershey. I could pay for a hotel room out of that. It would last me a couple days. Or maybe I’ll just go home. Mom will be happy to have me back, I think. Sure, it’ll be back to the way it was with her not paying attention or caring and us fighting all the time about stuff, but at least I’ll be away from the Joneses. They’re really nice people. They don’t deserve to put up with me. _

_ I ruin everyone’s lives, eventually. And I can’t stay here and have them spend countless amounts of money on me just for the inevitable to happen… I’m going to mess their lives up so bad because I’m me. I’m Quinn and I’m some kind of infectious disease. I come into people's lives, then I mess everything up. I can’t do that to them. Not the Joneses. It’s just best if I leave… _

“You find one that you like yet?” Mrs. Jones yells over her shoulder at me.

“...Yeah,” I lie. I wasn’t really looking at them. And I don’t really want her to think that anything is wrong. I don’t know where I could go, so I can’t run away. I can’t go home. I’ll never get better at home. And then I can’t stay in a hotel forever. I have nowhere else to go. I just… I guess I just have to be extra careful that I don’t ruin their lives while I’m here.

I grab the first one that looks appealing to me, a set that comes with a quilt, two pillowcases, a sheet set and decorative pillows. It’s white with black stripes and the inside of it is lined with light pink faux fur. It’s pretty and very different from the set I have back at home with Mom. The one I have back at home is purple with yellow polka dots and I didn’t pick it out. Mom did. Mom picked it out and I just now realized that it’s not at all what I like. What I like is more like what I just grabbed.

I carry the entire set over to where Mrs. Jones is standing, and drop it into the cart. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baby,” she mumbles as she studies the shade on a silver and white lamp.  _ Must be for Mercedes’ room.  _ “Go on and grab a lamp and some pictures that match what you got.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, go on,” she puts the lamp in her hand inside the cart and follows me over to the wall decorations. “Me and ‘Cedes used to do things like this all the time.”

“Things like what?” I ask.

“Like this. I used to pick her up from school all the time in the middle of the day. We’d go to lunch and then go see movies or go shopping or whatever. Every time I knew she might need a little time away or a break from school and stuff, I’d grab her up and we’d just have a day. Mental health day, that’s what ‘Cedes used to call ‘em.”

“A mental health day…” I say, pretending to be very interested in a black and white picture of the Eiffel Tower.  _ My mother would never think to do something like that for me. Ever.  _ “That’s pretty cool.”

“I know you’re worried ‘bout seeing that doctor today,” she takes the Eiffel Tower picture out of my hand and puts it into the cart because I think she knows that I would never put it in there myself. “That’s why I came and grabbed you up.”

“I’m…” I started to lie and tell her that I’m not nervous to see the therapist, but the least I can go is tell her the truth. “Yeah.”

“I know,” she runs her fingers through my hair. “It’s gonna be alright though. You gonna be alright. Whatever that doctor says today, it’s alright. You still gonna have a house to come home to and a hot meal to eat for dinner. We gonna get you some help today and it’s gonna be alright.”

“Okay,” I whisper, holding back tears and find another white picture with the word “Paris!” written on it in black glitter.

“You don’t gotta tell me everything, you hear? You don’t gotta sit down at the table every night for dinner and tell me everything. But this is how it’s gonna be as long as you living in the house, okay?”

“Yes.”

“You gonna go to therapy. You ain’t gonna miss no sessions and you gonna do whatever it is you need to do to get yourself better.”

“Okay,” I nod.  _ Well… she’s right. If I’m living in her house I have to follow her rules and her guidelines, so maybe I should ask her. I mean, I wouldn’t even ask my Mom if I were still living with her. I’d just go. When tomorrow comes, I’d just hop in my car without saying a word to her and I’d drive across town and I’d just show up. But Mrs. Jones is different. She actually cares about what I do and where I’m at, I think. So maybe I should ask her. Just to make sure it’s okay. _

“...Do you care if I have a job?” I ask her with my back still turned to her because I’m too scared to look her in the eye. She might say I’m not allowed to have a job. She might say that she thinks it’s too soon for me to have one and that I don’t have to pay for anything while I’m there and I need to just focus on school and therapy. She really might say no.

“A job…?”

“Yeah,” I still don’t look at her. “Um… So… the lady who… you know… adopted the baby? Well she was at sectionals on Saturday,” I finally turn around because I have a little bit of explaining to do here. “She’s Rachel’s biological mom. You know, me and Mercedes’ friend Rachel? That’s her mom. The one who adopted the baby. Shelby is her name. Anyway, she was there to support us and Rachel and stuff and she asked me if… if I would… maybe… maybe babysit? A few nights a week? And so I was wondering if maybe… maybe I could?”

She looks at me with her eyebrows slightly wrinkled and her mouth pressed into a hard line. I can see my words calculating in her brain as she makes sense of them. “...S’that something you wanna do? Something you think you can handle?”

“I… I don’t really know, actually. I don’t know. But I do know that I want to see her and be part of her life and stuff. And I think it might be a good way to, you know, do that, so. I… I mean I think I’ll be okay. I think it could be good for me.”

“Mmmkay,” she nods her head just once and starts looking at some rugs.

“Okay? I’m allowed?”

“The second them grades start slipping, I’m nipping it in the bud. But ‘long as it don’t interfere with your schooling, I don’t care. And I’d like to talk to this Shelby if you don’t mind. I just wanna talk about the hours with her, make sure you’re not biting off anymore than you can chew and make sure she ain’t taking no advantage of you.”

“Okay, that’s fine. That’s totally fine, you guys can talk tomorrow before I go, I promise. I promise. I promise I won’t let you down and I promise it won’t affect my grades. I promise. I’ll do homework over there while I’m watching her, I’ll keep studying hard. I swear you won’t regret saying yes.”

“You go and pick out a couple rugs to match that set. Imma go see if I can find a pair of sneakers for ‘Cedes,” she says, rubbing my shoulder before she walks the opposite way.

“Yes ma’am,” I call back at her and before I go and search through the area rugs for one that’s black and white or pink and will match my room, I ease my phone out of my back pocket, go to my notes app, and copy the phone number that I was too nervous to add to my contacts on Saturday.

I paste the number into my messages and create a new one.

**Text Message**

**Tuesday, October 29**

**1:22 p.m.**

**ME: ** hey shelby, sorry i didn’t text you yesterday. i was getting settled back into school and then it was late when i remembered. i am able to start watching her tomorrow if you still need me to!

**Text Message**

**Tuesday, October 29**

**1:28 p.m.**

**SHELBY: ** Sounds great. Address is 1198 Morningstar Drive. I’ll need you around 4 if that’s okay and should be home around 8. See you tomorrow!


	39. Slide Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter. Descriptions of an eating disorder lie ahead so reader discretion is advised.

* * *

* * *

She walks alongside a drainage ditch, hearing nothing but the sound of rain water filling it up like a tiny river. Thunder rumbles and lightning cracks, but she just keeps walking, shoes sloshing through the grass and making her plain white tights thick and soggy with brown mud. When a car slowly crawls down the road, she notices the glow of the soft white headlights, and silently prays that nobody stops to ask her if she needs a ride.

If anyone stopped and asked, she would probably just stare. Words would go right over her head like they are too complicated for her brain to comprehend, and she’d be standing there on the side of the road, shivering and soaking wet, just looking at them with blank, soulless eyes.

And if they were a good person in the car — one with common sense and good judgment — they would pick up their phone and call the police because the sight of a seventeen-year-old girl trudging through mud in the heaviest rainfall Lima’s seen in a very long time is enough to alarm anybody, sure. But a person with common sense and good judgment would take one look at the blood dried and crusted at the corners of her mouth and figure that she needs medical attention.

She held her breath as the car drove beside her, only letting it out when it sped right on by like it didn’t even see her. She was grateful for that, grateful that nobody stopped, and she kept on hoping — no, silently praying — that nobody ever would.

_ She seems nice, actually. I originally went into this whole thing thinking that I was going to clam up and say absolutely nothing and probably be a little standoffish the way I was when I first met both Jessica and Bailey. I honestly wasn’t expecting to take anything away from this appointment at all. _

_ But there’s something about her that made me feel okay. I didn’t feel completely fixed and totally alright, but I felt okay. Okay enough to relax, cross my legs in the chair, and answer all her questions honestly. _

_ She’s almost as skinny as Bailey, and looks a lot younger than her, too. Her hair is a really silky and straight jet-black, I know this because it hurts to look at it for too long. Her eyes, almond shaped and slightly angled, are small but they look at me with a real sense of welcoming and understanding. The bright pink eyeshadow she wears makes the brown in them really pop, and the red lipstick she has on makes me notice how tiny her lips are. She has slight, delicate features but I think she’s really pretty. _

_ “I um… I actually… I actually don’t know,” I shrug my shoulders softly as I really try to answer her question, but I keep coming up short every time I try to think of it. She asked me if my periods are irregular and of course I said yes, because I don’t remember the last time I even had one to be honest. But she asked me to remember the last time I had one and I honestly can’t. What does my period have to do with my mental health anyway? _

_ “Would you say one every two months? Three?” Her voice is light and chirpy, but at the same time it’s relaxing. She talks to me like I’m normal, you know? Like I’m not here because I went crazy and overdosed on some pills. Like I’m just here for a usual checkup and she’s asking me the usual questions. “It doesn’t have to be exact.” _

_ “Um… yeah, maybe three months. I don’t know. I’ve only had like two or three since I had my baby.” _

_ “And how long ago was that? How long ago was it that you had your baby?” _

_ “End of February.” _

_ “Okay… so two or three since March. Got it.” she clicks something on her computer and then her fingers start flying across the keyboard when she types. “And the hallucinations. Bailey mentioned in your chart that you’ve had quite a few. Do you notice if they happen at certain times? Are there certain triggers? Do you know if they just started after you ingested the LSD?” _

_ Bailey put that in my chart…? Oh god. I guess it makes sense for her to mention it because I guess she probably could think that the flashbacks from Puck only happened once when I was tripping on acid, which. Okay. Yeah, I get it. But still…why would she tell her that? Now she probably thinks I’m some kind of druggie. _

_ “Um… no, they happened a few times before that. Um… I guess maybe it started the day after, if I remember correctly… I think I had my first one the day after I… well, I was… like… I was… you know…” _

_ “You don’t have to say it, honey. I can read it in your chart. I know what you mean,” she shakes her head and keeps typing. Thank god for that. I just… don’t know if I’m comfortable telling this complete stranger what happened to me. Sure, she makes me feel comfortable and safe and secure. But I still don’t really want to say that out loud. “And if you could estimate, about how many have you had?” _

_ “Maybe twenty? No more than thirty?” _

_ “Twenty to thirty, okay.” She stops typing just to look at me for a second. “And can you describe what you feel when you’re having one? Are there certain things that trigger them? Like when you’re in a stressful situation? Or maybe a certain smell or feeling reminds you of the event?” _

_ “Um… mostly… mostly like… when I’m trying to… like… relax? Like if I’m doing something like lying in bed or watching TV or something it’ll just happen, but there’s not really any triggers. I mean sometimes there are. Like if I’m kissing someone or if I’m in the shower for too long. Or if someone grabs me a certain way. But most of the time it just happens at random moments.” _

_ “I see,” she nods. “And when it happens, how do you feel? Any chest pains? Dizziness? Nausea? Vomiting?” _

_ “Yeah, all of that. Sometimes I feel like the room is like… like spinning or something. And then I’ll feel like I can’t breathe. Sometimes my heart is beating so fast that I can hear it. That kind of stuff.” _

_ “Okay… And it says here that you were treated for an eating disorder a few years ago. Bulimia? How is that? Are you still checking in with a doctor… Aneja, I think it says? A nutritionist?” _

_ “No,” I shake my head fast. How does she know about that? I haven’t even told Bailey about that. I don’t want to lie. Please just drop it. I don’t want to lie to you. But I also don’t know how to tell you that it’s the one thing I can’t seem to kick, no matter how hard I try. “That was years ago, though. I was in eighth grade and I got treated for it. I’m okay now.” _

_ “Alright, good. Good.” She clicks on something on her computer, then turns all her attention back on me so I think she’s done. “So the next time I see you, we’re just going to talk a little more about some of the things we brushed over today. Okay?” _

_ “Okay.” _

_ “We’re gonna plan to meet again in about two weeks but until then, you’re just gonna keep working the treatment program that Dr. Houser set in place for you back at Oakland Pines, because it seems to be working well for you and if we need to adjust it, I’ll do it next time I see you. So keep seeing Bailey twice a week, that’s good. Keep writing in your journal, keep practicing those breathing techniques even if you don’t use them as often.” She stops for a second and clears her throat, all while I just continuously nod. “I did send you two prescriptions to the pharmacy. You use the Rite Aid downtown, right? On Market Street?” _

_ “...Yes?” Yeah, that’s where Mom and Dad used to pick up all my prescriptions at. But I haven’t been on any medicine since I had an ear infection like two years ago. What does she mean she sent me a prescription? Like… for like… like… an antipsychotic? Like crazy pills? She thinks I’m crazy? _

_ “Okay good, that’s where I sent them. And I’m only going to start you on some very low doses and when we have our med check in at the end of next month, I’ll see if your doses need to be adjusted or if the ones I’m giving you are doing the job. The first one I’m gonna try you on is called Minipress and if you look it up, you’ll probably see a bunch of stuff about it being for high blood pressure and things like that but a lot of my colleagues and some of my patients have been reporting success in using it to combat PTSD symptoms. You’re gonna take this one in the morning before school. It should really reduce the amount of episodes you have and make it easier for you to navigate, okay?” _

_ “...Okay…?” _

_ “And the second one is just going to make you feel like a better Quinn. It’s going to even out your moods so that you’re not as anxious and upset all the time. You’re gonna want to take this one right before bed because it can make you a little sleepy until your body gets used to it. Okay? So Minipress in the morning, Effexor at night. Sound good?” _

_ “So I actually… like… have a diagnosis this time? I’m not… I’m not fine?” _

_ “I don’t like to diagnose my first time seeing patients, but I will go on record and say for sure that you’re suffering from a pretty severe case of PTSD, which is why I’m giving you the Minipress.” _

_ “And the other one… that’s some sort of antidepressant, right?” I ask as one single tear starts rolling down my cheek. _

_ “That’s right. You’re showing a little bit of Bipolar 2 Disorder symptoms, along with some generalized anxiety symptoms, which is what the Effexor is going to help you out with.” _

_ I wonder if I should tell her that it’s happening again. It’s happening again and I can feel it and I don’t know how to stop it. It feels so weird and I don’t like this feeling, I don’t like this feeling how do I stop it? You’re supposed to be my psychiatrist so maybe you can help me because I don’t like this feeling. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. It feels weird, it feels too strange, it feels… I don’t like it! _

_ I’m still sitting across from her and I’m still somewhat listening to her as she’s explaining what this medication is going to do but at the same time, I feel myself tearing away. It’s like another part of me, some different part deep down, just stands up from the chair while the rest of me — the real me — is still sitting. And the other part of me is walking to the corner of the room and she’s watching. She’s watching my body! I’m sitting there with my legs crossed and I’m listening to her intently but I’m actually over here in the corner of the room just watching it all go down as if it’s happening to someone else. _

_ And I don’t know how I’m ever going to get myself back. _

She was supposed to wait for Mrs. Jones back at the doctor’s office. Her session was scheduled to run for about an hour, and the agreement was that she would wait outside the building and under the gazebo for Mrs. Jones to pick her up. The session ended five minutes early and all she wanted to do was get out of that office and get away from that building, because she wanted me to come back to her. She searched for me, she searched high and low. She wandered up the street and didn’t even notice when the rain started. She shivered because her body was cold, but disconnected from it she felt, so she didn’t really notice.

I was gone, she lost me the second Dr. Windburn gave her those diagnoses. And even though I went away from her and she didn’t know when she was getting me back, I led her down the street and across the highway. Some cars beeped at her as they passed, but she didn’t hear them. I think a part of her wished that one would hit her, but none of them ever did. She kept walking, UGG boots ruined and hair dripping down her already soaked back. She walked and walked and walked until I told her she could stop. People stared when she walked into the Wendy’s, but it was another thing that she didn’t notice. A few of them felt bad.

The guy behind the counter almost asked her if she needed help. He looked at her, a pitiful little thing in a droopy red dress so heavy with rain that it hung off her shoulders, a white knitted cardigan completely waterlogged and ruined. He looked at her and fashioned his lips, gathering the words to offer her help. But when she slipped a gold American Express credit card out of her dripping wallet, he realized that she probably didn’t need much of his offerings.

She sat alone at a table in the corner while she ate. Her clothes dripped a puddle onto the floor beneath her, and she shoveled four orders of large fries into her mouth, one after the next. Her stomach stretched and it began to hurt but the pain made her feel sane for a little while. She took the top bun off her hamburger and stacked three chicken nuggets on top, finished it in about three bites. She was still chewing when she turned the chocolate Frosty up to her mouth, shivered even more as it ran down her cheeks. It took two big swallows for her to clear all the food, and she felt sick. The good kind of sick, too. The kind of sick that reminds you that you are alive and you are breathing and people around you can see you.

She didn’t clean up after herself when she was done. She just shoved the last three chicken nuggets into her mouth, and she was swallowing them as she left out the door and walked back into the downpouring rain.

She had to cross the highway again to get back where she wanted to be. On her walk to the Wendy’s, she noticed a small patch of woods that would hide her perfectly for the act she was about to commit next. Though there was nobody out speeding along the highway or roaming the woods that would even remotely know who she was, she still wanted to be hidden. She didn’t want anybody to see her or to judge her when she bent over, palm rested on her knee. She stuffed the two fingers of her right hand so far down her throat that her knuckles touched the back of her throat, and didn’t have time to pull them out before the food came barreling back up.

Her nose burned and her eyes watered and her ears rang. The fries and the burger and the chicken nuggets all splattered down onto the dirt in front of her feet, a neat pile for any animal who wanted to come along and claim it as a meal. She still felt the heaviness in the pit of her stomach though, and she knew that it wasn’t all out. Fingers still slick and slimy with the pieces that she didn’t wipe off yet, she stuck them back down and grunted loud when her stomach convulsed.

This batch was colder than the last. Cold, brown and runny like the Frosty was before it went down. She stumbled, dizziness overtaking her and making it hard to stand. She stumbled, then held onto a tree. Coughed, spit. Coughed again. Spit. She thought everything was out this time, but did one more time with her fingers down the hatch just to be sure.

More came up this time, all of it just liquid. But she could taste the blood — that nasty, metallic, bitter taste — before she looked down and realized it was there. It was a dark kind of blood, too. One that you only ever see in movies. Maybe if I was still with her, she’d have sat down and cried and called Mrs. Jones to come and pick her up. But I wasn’t with her, so all she did was wipe the blood with the back of her hand and continue on through the woods with the rain washing away the pile of undigested food and blood, the only evidence that she was there; away like nothing ever happened.

I don’t know how she made it to the Rite Aid, but she did. She dragged her feet through the flooded parking lot and in through those double doors and if I was with her, I’d have told her to go into the bathroom and wipe that blood off her mouth because the rain just wasn’t washing it off. It was almost like the blood had stained her fair skin. But like I said, I wasn’t with her so she didn’t wipe it off. She dripped a trail of water all the way back to the pharmacy.

“You picking up?” The technician in a powder blue lab coat approached the counter, looking her from head to soaking wet toe.

“Quinn… or Lucy Fabray,” her voice was strained and grainy like she had been gargling a handful of nails. If she had me there with her, she’d probably cry because of how bad her throat hurts. But without me… I’m not even sure she noticed.

The technician rummaged through an entire row of bags until she found hers as the very last one hanging. She opened the bag, dumped the two yellow-orange vials into her hand and scanned one on the register. “Month and day of your birthday?”

“November 11th,” she tasted more blood as she spoke, but swallowed it down. “Do you need my um, insurance card?”

“Nah, we did a search for it on the computer system and found it. They went through at five bucks each. So it’s ten dollars,” the technician explained.

Her hands shook as she slid the credit card out of her wallet again and stuffed the chip inside the reader. Of course the transaction said complete across the screen and she mumbled a very low “thank you” to the technician as she took her bag of medication and headed back the way she came. The technician watched her as she left, too. Like most people who saw her in the condition she was in, she wondered if she should have offered any help. But then again, she thought that someone who needs help probably wouldn’t have paid for prescriptions with a gold American Express.

I think she missed her mom. She started walking up the slight hill that would lead her back to the Joneses house, but I think deep down she missed her mom. Or maybe she just missed the way her life used to be. Sometimes she forgot that she was only seventeen. Sometimes the world made her feel a little bit older and she looked at things that were wise beyond her years. I think she missed the carelessness of it all. She missed walking around high school like she owned the place and having all the girls stop her and ask her where she got her clothes. She missed being thrown up at the top of the pyramid and spending Friday nights down on the field with Santana and Brittany. She missed thinking she was straight, before everything got inherently complicated and confusing. She missed teasing Finn about touching her body and feeling like something was wrong with her sex drive because she never wanted to have sex with him. She missed doing and saying mean things to Rachel because that was back when having no feelings was easier than having all the feelings. She missed going to sleep in a fancy house and driving her red fancy car because she knew everybody wanted to be her. She missed coming home to both her mom and her dad and knowing that even though mom would be crying and drinking by the end of dinner and dad would be wiping blood off his knuckles, she could get into their waterfall shower and tune it all out. I think she missed who she was before she fell from grace.

It was completely dark outside by the time she made it back onto their street. The only lights came from the streetlamps over her head and rain just kept pelting her skin. If I was with her, I think she might have noticed the way her fingers and toes were completely numb. She might have noticed how her breath was icy white every time she breathed through her mouth and how her cheeks were stinging to the touch. Her body still shivered uncontrollably, like someone was sending electric currents all throughout her, but she still didn’t notice the frigid cold biting at her.

When she walked up the creaky front steps that led to the Joneses’ front door, she looked down at her feet. Her UGGs were coated with a layer of thick runny mud and I know that there was no way in hell she’d be allowed past the door with shoes like that. Mrs. Jones would kill her for tracking that kind of mud through the house, I knew that. But without me, she’s pretty much useless and if I was there, I’d slap her hand away from the doorknob before she even turned it.

_ I wonder when she’s going to get me back, because she needs me. I don’t think she can do this without me. Just get me back, Quinn… I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but get me back. It’s not so bad to have a diagnosis. This is happening to you. You don’t have to watch yourself anymore. I’m your mind, I’m not your enemy. We’re not two separate things. We’re together. I know the first time this happened and we separated, it was for a good reason. Puck just raped you and you didn’t know how to deal so you needed to lose me until you could cope. I understand that. But now you have other tools. You have other ways to cope. You can’t just lose me every time something bad happens. Just get me back... _

I know if I was with her right now, she’d be thinking about how she should turn around and go home instead of inside that house. She misses her old life right now and if I was with her, she would be thinking about all the things she could do to try and get that life back. She’d go right on home and walk through the doors and tell her mom that she can bring dad home now because really, all she wants is to have her family back to the way it was, dysfunction and all.

“You don’t understand, she’s not even seventeen!” Through the door, she heard something that sounded like Mrs. Jones’ voice, but it was a lot more high pitched. And it was thick, too. Almost like she was crying. “She ain’t the type to run off like that, she just ain’t.”

That was definitely Mrs. Jones’ voice, and it was laced with tears. She was crying, she knew that much. But she didn’t know if she was crying over her, or if maybe something happened and Mercedes didn’t come home either. That sounded more plausible.

“Ma’am, calm down. I see this all the time, kids just go out with their friends and don’t think to call their parents.” That was a man’s voice that she didn’t recognize.

“She ain’t like that, I’m telling you! I told her wait for me outside when her appointment was over and she’s a good girl! She woulda waited! Now I’m tellin’ you, something is wrong! She ain’t answering her phone, it’s raining cats and dogs out there! She ain’t gonna just run away!”

“Treesie, you gotta calm down,” Mr. Jones’ voice is like the calm in the middle of the storm. He’s usually really good at calming Mrs. Jones down but I think she might be too upset for that now…

“How I’m ‘posed to calm down when our _ daughter _is missing? She was ‘posed to wait for me outside and when I got there she wasn’t there! That appointment been over two hours now and there’s no sign of her. Where is she?”

“Ma’am, can you just tell me —“

“Patrice,” Mr. Jones interrupted the guy like such a steadying voice. It’s hard to not feel calm when he’s talking to you sometimes. “She don’t like to be called ma’am.”

“Right, well… Patrice? Can you just go over what your daughter was wearing again?” That was a different man’s voice, I was sure of it. Maybe there are two of them in there? “I have it down that she’s five-five, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. Blonde hair, hazel eyes. What was she wearing?”

“She has on this uh… uh…” Mrs. Jones stumbled. “It’s red. It’s a red dress and it got these yellow flowers all over it. She has on this white jacket… knitted. And these brown boots.”

“Any distinguishing marks?”

“God, I dunno, I… I’mma call her mama. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’mma call her. Jared? Hand me my phone, baby, I’mma call Judy.”

“‘Cedes? Come here real quick,” Mr. Jones said and I wondered if he handed her the phone or not. 

And I wondered when she was going to go inside. If I was with her, she’d have gone inside right away. She wouldn’t be standing outside the door, shivering and freezing, listening to them panic over her. 

“Yeah, Dad?” Mercedes sounded like she had been crying too.

“I want you to try calling her one more time. Do you know if she has anything birthmarks or anything?”

“She has a heart-shaped one right next to her bellybutton.” That’s a new voice… “It’s small, barely bigger than the size like a lentil or something, but it’s there. It’s there and it’s shaped like a heart.” Is that… is that… is that RACHEL?

Just like that, as soon as she heard Rachel’s voice, her hand was on the doorknob and she was turning it and stepping inside the house, muddy boots and all. Nobody heard the door swing open, so nobody looked down the hallway to see her. They were all just crowded around the kitchen table. The two police officers are stood with their hands on their hips, Mrs. Jones was pressing numbers on the phone with wobbly, unsteady hands and tears on her shirt. Mr. Jones squeezed his wife’s shoulders and Rachel huddled around Mercedes as she dialed her number.

I think once she finally got inside the house, she realized how tired and cold and worn down and weak she was. Because she slumped up against the door and blinked very heavy eyelids at least twenty times before she closed them. Her clothes and hair dripped all over the welcome mat and her joints felt like they were coming completely unhinged. She couldn’t walk another step. It might have killed her to.

As soon as Mercedes tapped the “call” button with her thumb, everybody heard the generic ringtone coming from down the hallway. And it was like a Kodak moment, the way everybody immediately looked up. And they all saw her at the same time, leaning there exhausted and weak, clothes heavy and dripping, blood still staining her mouth.

“Quinn!” Everybody yelled in unison but it was like she didn’t hear them because she didn’t even look up. Everybody ran down the tiny hallway at the same time but somehow, Mrs. Jones powered her way to the front of the line and made it to her first.

“Quinn?! Quinn, look at me baby. Are you hurt?” Mrs. Jones took her face between her two hands and forced her head to settle straight, but her eyes couldn’t focus. She just kept blinking and her eyes were crossing and her jaw was trembling as her teeth were chattering. “Baby, where’s this blood from?” Mrs. Jones wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumbs and gave her a thorough onceover. “Are you okay?”

“Where were you?!” Mercedes grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door, which made Mrs. Jones smack her hands away and mumble “don’t touch her.”

Everyone kept asking her if she was okay or if she was hurt. But she never did respond.

She was completely blank.

* * *

Mrs. Jones drew her a bath.

Mercedes and Rachel both wanted to be the ones who were there for her, they shadowed her every move as Mrs. Jones peeled the white cardigan off her shoulders. They kept trying to be her first responders, Mercedes took one boot off her foot while Rachel took the other. They both kept touching and smoothing her hair back and then it all stopped when Mrs. Jones told them both to get off of her and just leave the two of them be.

She wouldn’t have made it up the steps without Mrs. Jones. She was still soaking wet, but Mrs. Jones leaned her body up against hers and helped her up the flight of steps and into her bedroom. If I was with her, she would have been absolutely tickled at the fact that they set up her room while she was at the psychiatrist. Her new bedspread was on her bed and the decorative pillows made it look fancy. The pictures were all hung up and the rug was laid down. The lamp was turned on to make everything come to life and if I was there with her, I would have made her cry.

Mrs. Jones sat her down on the bed, and rushed down the hallway for a few moments. She didn’t know what she was doing down there, but she started to hear the bath water running and then she could make a few guesses. Mrs. Jones came back just as quickly as she left and got right down to business.

She peeled the drenched socks off her freezing cold feet, then hung them on the doorknob to dry. She started at the bottom as she grabbed the edge of her dress and yanked the sticky wet fabric up and over her head, then tossed it to the floor. As soon as she guided her muddy, used-to-be-white tights down and off her body, she made her stand up and she wrapped a fluffy blue towel around her semi-naked body.

The walk down the hallway was the longest. She dragged her feet across the warm carpet and stared into the steaming hot water. Mrs. Jones took the last two pieces of her clothing — her bra and underwear — and helped her step into the water.

If she had me, we would appreciate how good the water felt on our cold, icy skin. We would appreciate how it warmed us from the outside in, and we would have leaned back and let it hit every inch of our body. We might have been a bit nervous at the idea of Mrs. Jones seeing us naked, but I don’t think we would have really cared. And we would have apologized to Mrs. Jones. We would have noticed the way she had to wipe her tears before leaving extra towels on the sink and would have heard the fear mixed with relief in her voice when she turned to us and said, “I’ll be back up to check on you. ...We’ll talk about all this tomorrow.”

She sat in the bath with her knees pulled into her chest, completely inaccessible. Parts of her body were still cold, but she didn’t care or feel enough to let the warm water hit those too. She just looked at the wall, tucked into herself and thinking about absolutely nothing. She wasn’t alone for long, though. It was maybe a minute after Mrs. Jones left that she heard a couple knocks on the door, but I’m not sure if she even really heard them because she didn’t move. She didn’t move or didn’t look or didn’t say to come in.

Mercedes pushed the door open and walked into the bathroom like she was entering a minefield. She slowly sat down on the ledge of the bathtub, and placed her hand on her hair, still cold and dirty with rain water and blood and twigs from the woods.

“Rachel’s still here,” Mercedes said. “She won’t leave until she gets to talk to you.”

Nothing but the sound of her hair dripping into the water below. Nothing at all.

“She must really love you,” Mercedes tried again but she still got nothing out of her. “We don’t have to talk about it. You scared the hell out of all of us, though. And I really wish you wouldn’t shut me out.”

Nothing.

Nothing, so Mercedes sighs and stands up. I’m halfway expecting her to turn back around and say one last thing before she leaves, but she doesn’t. She just walks right out the bathroom door and shuts the door behind her when she does.

_ Come on, Quinn. Get me back. I’m not against you. I’m with you. I’m with you and you need me. You need me so bad. I know it’s scary. I know having an official diagnosis and accepting that there’s something wrong with you is scary, but I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m here to get through it with you. How are we ever supposed to power through anything tough if you’re always losing me when something goes wrong? Get me back. You need me back. It’s not that bad. We can do this together. We can do it if you just get… me… back. _

Two more knocks sound on the door, and she still doesn’t move. She is still just a lifeless shell of a human being without me and somehow I think this might be worse than the last time it happened. At least last time it happened, she actually talked. Now she’s mute. What’s wrong with her? What if she has lost me forever? What if she really can’t get me back?

Rachel walks into the bathroom the same way Mercedes did, like she’s entering a minefield. “Hey?” Her voice is that gentle and soothing kind of voice that would drive her absolutely insane if she had me with her. She walks slowly over to the bathtub and sits on the edge just like Mercedes did.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Nothing. Not even for Rachel. Nothing.

“When Mercedes called me and told me that you were missing, it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Then when I saw you at the door, I just…” Rachel takes a deep breath to steady herself and I wish I could make her comfort her but I can’t. She’s stuck and I can’t do anything with her.

“I know that you’re broken, Quinn,” she puts her hand on her back and traces her fingertips along her spine. “And I know that I can’t fix you. I… I want to, but I don’t know how. I can’t fix you. But I really, really want to try. If you would just…”

And finally, it’s like a breakthrough or something! Finally, she’s showing some damn emotion! She opens her mouth and tries to talk to Rachel, but she can’t find the words and a tear rolls off her cheek and splashes down into her bath water.

_ Come on, Quinn. Get me back before you lose her. _

“I’m gonna go home now,” Rachel whispers. “I told my dads I was going to stay here until you came home and… and well, you’re home now and it’s getting pretty late.” She stands up and heads for the door.

_ Come on. Get me back. Get me back. _

But before she leaves out of it, she turns back and looks at her. “...I love you, Quinn.”

_ Get me — _

I pick my head up off my knees and okay, this isn’t the way I wanted Rachel to see me naked again after we had sex. I’ll admit that. But sometimes I just can’t help it when I have moments like this and I’m sorry for scaring everybody, but I’m… I’m here. I’m here and I’m okay. I’m here and I have two diagnoses that I need to wrap my head around, but I’m okay. I’m here and I’m okay and I’m sorry but I just needed a moment to really process all of this.

My god, I’m cold. I think I’m going to let the water out of this bath after she leaves and take a shower instead because at least then I know my entire body will be covered with water and maybe then I can warm up. And I can’t wait to go to bed, either. I need to lie down and sleep all of this off and I think I’ll start my medicine. I’ll start taking it tonight.

I turn my head around in the bathtub, knees still covering my chest. And I catch her just as she is about to slip out of the door. I catch her when I say:

“I love you, too.”


	40. Where You Belong

_ This time, the way she has her hand locked inside of mine feels different. _

_ The blankets cling to our sticky-hot bodies and our hair is matted to our chests. My heart is still pumping a thousand miles a minute and my body still feels weak; like someone deflated all the air out of me and left me lying here to fill back up on my own. My leg propped up, bent at the knee, while hers is relaxed straight down. I lie flat on my back and stare up at the crown-molding on the ceiling, and she stares at the closet. _

_ This is a big moment, I know. It’s the moment I’ve been dreaming about since the day Jessica made me realize that I was gay and possibly in love with her. Back then, the entire thought of this night seemed so far fetched. I never thought there would be a day where I’d be strong enough to stand in the same room as her, much less lie in the same bed. And the thought of her actually liking me back seemed absolutely insane. If someone would have told me way back then that I’d be lying naked in a hotel bed right next to her, with her hand in mine after we just had some sort of sex, I would have thought they were lying. _

_ I might have believed them if they would have told me how much I’d like having her body, though. _

_ Feeling her neat, polished fingernails as they scraped across my scalp, and the way I grinned when she grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled it. It was like music, listening to the way her moans came from down in her gut and rolled up into her throat. I thought it was amazing, actually. How the way I placed my fingers made her toes curl under and when I opened and closed them inside of her, her back arched. I felt the sweat collecting between her thighs when she closed them, trying to keep my hands right as they were. She squirmed beneath me and then I parted them again, her legs. I felt her against my fingers, hot and pulsating, like someone was pulling a string inside and making her tighten around me. I don’t know how I was so sure, but I knew in that moment that it was happening and my god, it made me never want to stop. _

_ It was like that time we were at Cedar Point and we got on that rollercoaster, we climbed straight up to the top. She moaned and the cart clinked further up the hill. She was at the top now, waiting to go plummeting down to whatever waited below. And then I thought it was magic. I had put my face back down there, right to the middle, because I wanted her. I wanted to taste her, to feel her, to hear her, to see her. And I was surprised a bit, yeah. Because nothing tasted as sweet as she did. It was like splitting open the ripest fruit, the forbidden fruit. I felt her all over me, on my hands and my face. _

_ She breathed in deep, letting it out with a moan. She took time coming down. Her body was limp and her hands her still against my head, but lifelessly. Her breathing was shallow, but returning back to normal. But I kept replaying it over and over in my head, the way she arched her back and then moaned. It felt like two stars were colliding together to make another galaxy. It played back to me like a movie, except every scene that ran had a shimmery, glistening, wet, pink overlay. _

_ I thought about taking another shower when we were done, but the thought of washing her off of me just wasn’t appealing. I knew I couldn’t keep her on me forever, but I wanted just a little bit longer of being the closest person to her. _

_ I roll over onto my side to face her, even though I know her back is to me. Her shoulders gyrate up and down in tune with her rhythmic, gentle breathing and I scoot a little closer. _

_ “Hey…” I whisper in her ear. She doesn’t answer me, she just keeps lying the way she is. Head flat on the pillow, hand tucked up under her cheek. I put my index finger on her temple and trace it back along her ear to move her hair away from her face. “...I love you, Rachel.” _

_ She’s asleep, that much I know. Her eyes are closed and she’s in that deep state of breathing. She’s fast asleep… _

_ But I hope she heard me anyway. _

When my eyelids flutter open and I’m in those few hazy moments where my brain is trying to register the fact that I am actually awake now, I start to forget where I am. I blink my eyes twice to make everything around me clearer, and I still don’t feel any familiarity set in. I don’t actually start to realize where I am until I yawn, roll over onto my side, and see the two black, white and pink pillows he tossed onto the floor while getting me comfortable last night. 

_ That’s right. I forgot Mrs. Jones bought me new bedroom decorations yesterday. I got used to the ugly green one that Mercedes’ brother used to use. _ I yawn one more time and start to sit up, feeling my bones shift and crack. _ Why am I wearing pants and a long-sleeved shirt? I never sleep in anything this restricting. And why do I have socks on my feet? I never, ever, ever sleep in socks. Ever. _

I slip my legs over the edge of the bed and stretch my feet out before they touch down on the black and white rug that still has a crease in it. And I don’t bother smoothing my hair down, really. I know it’s probably a mess and sticking up in a thousand different directions, but there’s no need in fixing it right now when I’m just about to brush it before I go to school. _ Oh, that’s right. School… I wonder if Mercedes is hogging the bathroom as usual. _

I pull my phone off the charger to check and see exactly how much time I have left to get dressed and ready before school, because I didn’t have time to set my alarm last night. I mean, I probably did, in hindsight. It was completely dead after everything that happened yesterday and I could have just plugged it in and waited for it to come back on so I could set my alarm for school today. But after Rachel left and I got out of my bath, I realized just how tired I actually was. And maybe that’s the reason I’m still dressed like a kid in new pajamas on Christmas morning. I never planned to go to sleep in these clothes. I got out of my bath and dried my body off. And I was still just so freaking cold that I put on a pair of flannel pajama pants and their matching button-up shirt. My toes still had no feeling in them, so I put on fuzzy socks. And I planned on going downstairs to eat dinner with everyone and taking the chance to say that I am sorry for running away and scaring everybody.

But I laid down and reached over to plug my phone in. I just wanted to lie down and cry one last time before I went downstairs to face everybody. I wanted one last chance to get everything out of my system and come to terms with the fact that sometimes I am just a stranger in my own head. But my crying turned to heavy eyelids and my heavy eyelids turned to sleep. And the next thing I remember is feeling Mr. Jones pick me up the same way Daddy used to when I was little. He scooped me up and let my head dangle back, and I felt it. I felt him picking me up and holding me in the air for a few moments, but I was just too exhausted to really wake up. He put me down after a minute or so — a minute of Mrs. Jones pulling my quilt and my blankets back so I could get inside.

When I pull my phone off the charger, the screen automatically lights up and I feel my stomach sink down into my kneecaps when I see the time reads **11:46 a.m.**

_ Holy shit, I’m late! _

My legs are kinda sore and stiff, probably from walking as much as I walked yesterday, but I automatically spring up and nearly sprint over to my closet. The majority of my clothes are still in my duffle bag at the bottom of the closet because I haven’t had the chance to really unpack them and set things up, so I just grab the first thing I see, which is the farthest thing from a typical Quinn Fabray outfit. I grab a pair of black leggings and my Cheerios hoodie. I don’t have time to dig around and find a bra to wear, so I put the hoodie on without a bra and just hope that nobody will be able to see my nipples today. Then my underwear aren’t the right kind of underwear to wear underneath of leggings but I don’t want to look around for a thong or some lace ones, so I just put the leggings on anyway and embrace the fact that people are going to see my underwear outlines today, whatever.

I don’t have time to do my eye makeup the way I like for it to be done, so I nix that for the day and settle for a natural kind of look without any makeup and embrace the fact that I look terrible. And there’s no time for me to straighten my hair or put some curls in it, so I yank it up into a loose, sloppy ponytail and grab the pair of UGGs that I didn’t wear yesterday. They’re pink and they don’t match my red, black and white hoodie, but they’re shoes and they’ll keep my feet warm.

_ Why didn’t Mercedes wake me up?! Why did she just leave right out the front door without me?! _

Hands in my front hoodie pocket to secure my phone, I run down the steps as fast as I can and round the corner to head for the rack where Mrs. Jones keeps everybody’s car and house keys. I stand up on my tiptoes because it’s mounted to the wall and a little high up, but I quickly get off my tiptoes when I realize that the little yellow and pink lanyard that says “Quinn” on it is not dangling there.

_ Where the hell are my keys?! _

I hear pots and pans clanking together from the kitchen and the light is on, so I know Mrs. Jones is awake and messing around in there. _ Maybe she knows where my keys are. _I jog down the hallway, past the living room into the kitchen and sure enough, Mrs. Jones is standing at the stove nudging a pile of scrambled eggs back and forth inside a skillet. And as always, she has the little radio on and it’s playing a soft, slow-sounding R&B tune. I’d love to stay here and listen to her sing forever, because she’s such a great singer. I mean seriously, I know where Mercedes gets it from. Mercedes is a powerhouse but her mother is one of the greats. I think she taught Mercedes everything she knows.

“Sometimes you’ll laugh… sometimes you’ll cry…” Her voice sounds the way running your hands through soft blades of grass feels. It’s relaxing and tickling and mesmerizing all at the same time. _ No wonder Mercedes grew up to be such a great person. I’d grow up great too if I had this voice singing me lullabies. _“Life never tells us the whens or whys… but when you’ve got friends… to wish you well… there comes a point when… you will exhale.”

I don’t know this song so it’s hard to say for sure, but I think the chorus is over and since the chorus is over, I guess it’s an okay time to interrupt her singing. She turns the fire dial down on the eggs, all the way to the left until it’s off. Then she moves them to the back burner with a pan of bacon and starts wiping her hands on the dish towel, so I clear my throat softly.

She turns around towards me and a gentle but very honest smile slides across her lips. “Oh, good morning, baby. I ain’t hear you get up.”

“Do you know where I put my car keys? I’m super late,” I lean against the archway and try to ignore how good the eggs and bacon smells.

“You hungry? I made us some lunch,” she starts scraping the eggs and bacon onto two separate styrofoam plates. 

“It smells _ really _good actually, but I’m super late and I need to get going. I just can’t find my car keys. I thought I left them on the rack with everyone else’s, but they’re not there and —“

“Sit on down,” she motions with her head to my usual seat at the kitchen table, and puts a plate at the placemat. “You want some orange juice or apple juice or water?”

“Mrs. Jones —“

“If I planned on sending you to school today, don’t you think I woulda woke you up and sent you with ‘Cedes? You ain’t in no shape for school today. Sit on down and eat your lunch.” She pours two glasses of orange juice and sets them on the table, then doles out two pieces of toast for both of us. “We gotta talk about yesterday anyway.”

_ Oh no… _

I pick up my fork and stab a scrambled egg with it. I just know she’s mad at me. She doesn’t seem mad, with the way she made some lunch and served my plate to me. And she really doesn’t seem mad when she combs a few loose strands of my ponytail back and away from my face. She mumbles “eat up, baby,” to me before taking her own seat and she keeps calling me baby, so she definitely doesn’t seem mad. But I feel it in my bones. She’s mad at me and she’s going to yell at me and I lost the respect of the one person that I care about making proud of me. I know she’s mad at me. She took my car keys because she’s mad at me. And now she’s going to kick me out because she’s mad at me. _ I messed up. I messed up so bad. How come I knew that I was going to ruin this for myself? I ruin everything. The Joneses were so good to me and I just… crapped all over them yesterday. How could I? _

“So you know you on punishment, right?” She licks her lips and swallows her bite of toast. I nod my head very slowly as I play with the small piece of egg I have yet to swallow. “You can kiss the car goodbye for a week. You go to school, you go to Glee club, you come home, you do your nightwork, you go to bed. No hanging out with no Rachels, no Tinas, no Santas, no Brittanys.” I have to fight the urge to laugh at her calling Santana “Santa.”

“I’m —“ I start, but she’s not finished so I shut up.

“Phone comes to me at 9:00. I’mma give it back to you in the morning so you can reach me if something happen at school, but I take it back every night at 9:00. You got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” I break off a piece of bacon and hold it next to my mouth, trying to will myself into taking a bite. I’m not hungry anymore, suddenly. Suddenly I feel like I want to put my head down and cry into my plate.

“What you did yesterday…” she sighs. “That’s not what we do here, mmkay? We don’t run away in this house. Something bothering us, we sit down and talk. We don’t run away and avoid stuff. Not here.”

“Okay…” I say out loud and my voice starts to crack. The tears are at the rims of my eyes and they’re threatening… they’re threatening to fall…

“Now I ain’t mad at you, you hear?” She says and I nod slowly again. “I ain’t mad at you and I ain’t disappointed in you. But you only a baby. You only sixteen —“

“I’m seventeen,” I mumble with not much fight in me. “I’ll be seventeen on —“

“You listen to me. Until the eleventh of November, you are sixteen years old. Ain’t no rounding up in this household. You ain’t seventeen yet. Got a couple weeks for that. Stop tryna make yourself more grown that what you are. You’s a baby and you don’t get to make no decisions for yourself. Stop saying you seventeen until you actually are.”

She sips her orange juice and as soon as she’s done with the “you’re not seventeen yet” speech, my floodgates open. Because maybe she’s right. Ever since I came back from treatment — no, scratch that. Ever since I had Beth — I’ve just… been rounding it up, I guess. I… I feel seventeen. I feel like a very old seventeen, actually. Maybe even eighteen. But then sometimes I feel like I’m four again and I need to sit on someone’s lap while they comfort me. Then maybe I feel eighty when I get out of bed and my legs are sore, then thirty whenever I think about doing what’s right for my child. My point is, I feel all of these years, all at the same time, all the time and it’s very confusing. Maybe growing old is like the layers of an onion — one year inside of the next. Maybe the parts of me that feel different ages will never go away.

Ever since I had Beth, everybody asks me how old I am and I say that I’m seventeen. My birthday isn’t for a couple weeks and only then will I officially be seventeen, but still. It’s gotten to be so much of a habit that everyone just kind of blindly follows me in calling me seventeen. It’s gotten so bad that I think I might have forgotten that I’m only sixteen sometimes, and maybe that’s the part of me that feels ninety with dementia or Alzheimer’s. Nobody has ever reminded me that I’m young, though. Not until I got here between these four walls with these amazing people.

_ I’m only sixteen… I’m still just a baby myself… _

I put my hand over my heart because I feel like it might be beating a little too fast and I can’t really breathe while I’m crying like this, but I can’t stop crying like this. I’m blubbering — a big snotty mess — but I can’t help it. I feel like I might have messed up so bad yesterday that they just… well they probably don’t really want me anymore. _ Please still want me… I know I’m more trouble than I’m worth, but please... _

“I-I’m s-so s-orry. I— I — I didn’t m — mean to — upse—t anyone. I— I ju—just —“ I try talking through my crying hiccups but it’s not really working so I’m thankful when Mrs. Jones stops me.

“Take a breather, baby. You gonna choke on all them words,” she pushes her chair out from the table and walks over to me very slowly, as if she’s trying not to alarm me or something. “Take a breather.”

“I d-don’t know what’s wrong with me sometimes,” I sniff and wipe my eyes with the pads of my fingers. “I just don’t know where I fit in,” I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t feel like I belong anywhere in this world sometimes. Sometimes I just… I just don’t know where I’m supposed to be or where I fit. I don’t fit anywhere…”

I could be mistaken because I’m crying my own tears and my vision is a little blurry, but I really think that Mrs. Jones has tears in her own eyes. Her brown eyes are shiny and classy and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth like she’s trying to find some kind of strength somewhere in her body. She cradles my face inside her hands and uses her thumbs to wipe my leaky eyes.

“You look at me,” she says underneath her breath in a tone of voice that I have never heard her use. She squats so that the two of us are eye-level, and she holds my face so that I have to look her in the eye. “You looking?” I nod my head, eyes locked into hers. “You listening?” I nod again. “Tell me you listening.”

“I’m listening,” I purse my lips to ward off more tears but I’m not strong enough for that. They just roll freely down my cheeks and Mrs. Jones catches them with her thumbs. “I’m listening…”

“You belong right you’re at,” she holds my gaze. “You belong right here with me and with Jared. And you fit right there” she points to the left side of her chest. “Right there. That’s where you fit and that’s where you belong. Mmkay?”

“Okay,” I mumble and I can’t explain how I feel right now, so I won’t even try. I’ll just leave it at the word loved. I’ve never felt so accepted and… and loved in my life. It makes me feel like I’m not really here. Like I’m not really in this place because I don’t really deserve it.

“Know where else you fit?”

“Where?”

“Right here,” she stands up straight and wraps her arms around me and it’s the kind of hug I want to give Beth someday. It’s the kind of hug I know Shelby probably gives her in the middle of the night when she’s crying and won’t go back to sleep. It’s the kind of hug that my mother used to try to give me but it never felt quite like this before.

This is the hug of a mother. A warm, gentle, protective, all-knowing, loving embrace. It’s something that they only teach you when you go to mommy school. You learn how to take your child into your arms, pull them close, and teach them how to shut out the entire world. You make them feel safe right inside your arms.

And it’s a hug that Mrs. Jones has down solid.

“You never gonna realize how much we love you, girly,” she presses her lips to the top of my head. “We was losing our minds when we thought we lost you yesterday.”

“About that…” I sniffle again and wiggle my way out of her grasp so I can look her in the eye. “I’m really sorry. I’ll never do it again. I will never do it again. I just… I didn’t know what else to do. I went outside and you weren’t there yet and I just wanted to get away from that building. It’s like… like I went on autopilot or something.”

“Something happen up in your appointment?” She asks.

“Yeah,” I nod. “She put me on two new things. I forget what they’re called, but one is for… for PTSD, I guess. And the other is for like, depression…? Because I’m bipolar…? I guess…? I dunno,” I shrug.

“PTSD? From what, giving the baby up?”

And it’s in that moment that I remember that she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what Puck did to me and what happened and why I’m so messed up over it. She doesn’t know. I didn’t tell her. And neither did Mercedes, I’m guessing. _ Oh god… she doesn’t know… _but if I tell her, it might break her. It really might. I can’t tell her. Not yet. I will, I swear I will. But not right now… not yet…

“Yeah,” I lie through my teeth. “So I have the PTSD medicine and the depression medicine and… and I know I should take them and stuff, but I took medicine before. I took an antidepressant before and then something to help me sleep because I wasn’t sleeping for a while when I was…” _ she doesn’t know about Oakland Pines either… _“Sad about giving Beth up. I took medicine like that before and it made me gain weight and feel funny.”

“I tell you what,” she walks over to the cupboard and takes my two pill bottles from the top shelf. “We’ll work on it if it makes you feel funny or gain a little weight. But right now, this is what’s best for you and I need you to take it seriously. Alright? So we gonna start today.”

She opens the pill bottle and dumps one of my pink and green pills into her hand. The one that is called… _ Prazosin _, if I’m reading the upside down bottle correctly. That one is for the PTSD, I think. I’m only supposed to take that one in the morning. The depression one I can take at night.

Mrs. Jones holds her palm out to me and thought I’m a little hesitant and reluctant at first, I take the pill from her hand and swallow it with a gulp of orange juice.

* * *

**New iMessage**

**Wednesday, October 30**

**2:55 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Hey.

**2:57 p.m.**

**ME: **hey.

**ME: **what’s up?

**ME: **how’s school?

**2:58 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **I miss you.

**ME: **i miss you too, rach. how’s glee? did it start yet?

**RACHEL: **No, I like… really miss you. :(

**RACHEL: **Glee started a couple mins ago. Shoe is giving us Halloween assignments. Boys v. Girls again which is irritating. But we have to come up with something to perform tomorrow. Halloween themed. He’s giving us the time today to pick something.

**ME: **got anything so far?

**RACHEL: **Little Shop of Horrors. Song choice by me. Brit’s doing choreo, Mercedes has costumes. Only thing we’re missing is you.

**ME: **yeah right what could i possibly add?

**RACHEL: **Your presence. You always relax me.

**ME: **tell everyone i said hi.

**RACHEL: **They said hi.

**RACHEL: **Are you feeling okay?

**ME: **yeah im fine. mrs. jones just didn’t want me to go to school today. she wanted me to rest.

**ME: **im okay babe i promise.

**RACHEL: **Babe…?

**ME: **sorry it slipped. i know it sounds super stupid and cheesy.

**ME: **gonna go run & hide now, brb!

**RACHEL: **Stop, I like it! Babe…

**RACHEL: **Babe.

**RACHEL: **Babeeeeee

**RACHEL: **Baaaabe

**RACHEL: **Babe!!!!

**ME: **stop!!! you freaking loser!!!

**RACHEL: **I’m just testing it out!

**ME: **for what?!

**RACHEL: **To see how it sounds if I scream it out in bed!

**RACHEL: **Has the potential to get a little pitchy…

**ME: **i stg i hate you.

**ME: **you are literally the worst person i know.

**ME: **i’m so sick of your shit.

**ME: **sick, i tell you. sick.

**RACHEL: **Love you too Babe :) :) :)

**RACHEL: **Miss you Babe :) :) :)

**RACHEL: **Glee club is boring Babe :) :) :)

**RACHEL: **They keep asking why I’m smiling at my phone Babe :) :) :)

**RACHEL: **I want to kiss you Babe :) :) :)

**ME: **fuck you!

**RACHEL: **Okay Babe :) :) :)

**RACHEL: **You already did though Babe :) :) :)

**RACHEL: **What are you doing tonight Babe :) :) :) ?

**RACHEL: **Can I come over and see you tonight Babe :) :) :) ?

**RACHEL: **I could teach you the song and choreography

**RACHEL: **Babe :) :) :)

**ME: **im watching beth tonight…

**RACHEL: **Oh wait you’re still doing that?

**ME: **yeah. shelby needs me from 4-8.

**ME: **plus im “on punishment”

**RACHEL: **Wth does that mean?

**ME: **grounded.

**ME: **for a week.

**ME: **no friends, no phone after 9, no car.

**RACHEL: **Oh no…

**RACHEL: **So when am I supposed to see you then?

**RACHEL: **This is bs.

**ME: **school & glee i guess. it's only for a week but it’s going to be long i know.

**RACHEL: **This really effing sucks.

**RACHEL: **Well do you want help watching Beth tonight? I can meet you over there, Shelby won’t care.

**ME: **idk…

**RACHEL: **Quinn I will never impose on you and Beth’s time together if you’re worried about that. I know you probably want to be alone with her and I respect that. I just want to see you and plus I can be there to help you if you get overwhelmed with her since it’s the first time you’re watching her.

**RACHEL: **Only if you want me to though. No pressure.

**RACHEL: **We can always sneak out of 5th period to see each other.

**ME: **no, no it’s fine. come watch beth with me. she loves you & it’ll be good to have an extra set of hands. and you can teach me the routine for tomorrow and i’ll get to see you.

**ME: **i just miss you so much.

**RACHEL: **Okay I’ll be there at like 4:15 since I’m coming straight after Glee. I’ll text my mom and let her know that I’m coming too so she’s not surprised or anything.

**ME: **ok.

**RACHEL: **I’ll see you in a little while.

**ME: **see you.

**ME: ** love you.  
  


**RACHEL: **I love you too Babe :) :) :)

* * *

“I already made you about five or six bottles so you don’t have to worry about it, and they’re in the fridge. All you have to do is pop them in the warmer on the counter. It already has the water in it, all you have to do is push the button on the side and leave it in there for like two minutes,” Shelby shoves her arms into her wine-colored trenchcoat and starts buttoning from the neck down. “You shouldn’t have to, but if for some reason she eats all her bottles and you have to make a new one, the bottle cupboard is right above the dishwasher and the water jugs are underneath the sink. You pour it to the “six” mark on the bottle and then put three scoops of formula in it, two scoops of rice cereal.”

“Okay,” I sigh as I look around.

I guess maybe a small part of me was hoping that her apartment wasn’t nice. I mean, I knew it would be. I knew that she wasn’t living in some dump without running water and a door that doesn’t lock. I knew that she was living pretty well because she always dresses nicely and has Beth dressed nicely, too. But I was sort of hoping that it wasn’t as nice as this.

She has at least a dozen pictures of Beth, all framed and in a straight line, hanging above the fireplace. She has newborn pictures, first bath pictures, one month pictures, two month pictures, three month pictures… Beth is really the light of her life, isn’t she? On her coffee table, she has two white sparkly pumpkins sitting atop an orange and yellow “happy fall” placemat. And even with all the toys littering her living room floor and making it look like a baby threw up everywhere, I can tell that everything has a place and she’s usually very neat. I don’t know what I was expecting… but it sure as hell wasn't this.

“When she wakes up from her nap, she’ll probably be hungry but she won’t eat right away. She never eats as soon as she wakes up. So you can give her a bath before you feed her, that’ll give her time to get herself together. Um… her clothes are in the dresser, not the closet. Her pajama drawer is the very bottom one on the left. And you can try to feed her some of that baby food before a bottle. Maybe try the bananas. Sometimes she’ll eat baby food and I’m trying to get her to eat more of it, so you can give it to her for a snack.”

“Okay,” I look around the kitchen, surprised by the way everything is so clean and neat. “What time does she usually wake up?”

“You can wake her up in about half an hour. Don’t let her sleep any later than 4:30 because then she won’t sleep tonight.”

“Okay, 4:30. Got it.” I look around at the cabinets, all brown and polished wood. The fridge is completely wiped free of fingerprints and so is the dishwasher. And I just wonder how she does it all, to be honest. I don’t know if I would be able to do what she does and still maintain a neat place.

“I should be back around 8:00, no later than that.”

“What time does she usually go to bed?”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll put her to sleep when I get home. She can be a bit… fussy around bedtime, so I’ll handle it. I left some money on the counter so you and Rachel can order out if you get hungry. Of course you’re welcome to anything in the fridge, though.”

“Alright, everything sounds good,” I lean against the counter and watch her as she steps into black leather boots. 

I think maybe someday I’ll thank her. Not today, because I’m still taking everything in and trying to process it all, but someday I’ll thank her. I’ll thank her for being such a good mom to Beth and giving her such a nice home to live in. I’ll thank her for allowing me to still be part of her life when she really doesn’t have to do that because I signed those papers and nowhere in them does it say that I’m entitled to see her. And I’ll thank her for being so understanding about the whole thing — for being so mentally flexible and strong about it. I just know that if it were me and some other woman gave birth to Beth, I don’t think I’d be able to let that other woman come around and try to stake her claim. Maybe that’s the immature part of me that still feels ten.

“I’m gonna leave the door unlocked for Rachel, but don’t forget to lock it once she’s inside,” Shelby heads for the door. “Thanks a million, Quinn. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” I nod and as soon as she shuts the door behind herself, it starts to set in that I am actually alone, inside Shelby’s apartment, watching Beth.

This is Beth’s home. I’m finally seeing it in the flesh. Exposed brick walls in the living room, fresh neat paint jobs everywhere else. Hardwood floors perfect for little tiny hands to grab food off the ground, fluffy area rugs to make it comfortable for her to crawl around. A kitchen small, but big enough for a mommy to make dinner every night and all stainless steel appliances. There’s a TV mounted to the wall just above the fireplace and just below her pictures, but it’s not the main focal point of the place. The main focus is the bookshelves that line the walls, completely full of books that are all the classics. Mary Shelley, Mark Twain. Lewis Carroll, George Orwell. My daughter is going to grow up in a house where books matter more than what’s on the TV, and with the piano taking up what would be the dining area, I know that she’ll grow up around music as well.

I wander over to the playpen in the corner of the living room, right in front of the bookcase with all the famous women authors, because I know that’s where Beth’s at. I scooped her out as soon as I stepped foot in here and took my shoes off. I don’t know why, but I wanted to see her to make sure she was actually here because it’s not like Shelby ever gave me a reason to not trust her, but it still felt like maybe she could be playing a trick on me.

I put my hands on the playpen and grip it to hold myself together as I peer down inside. And sure enough, my girl is laying down inside of it.

She’s flat on her back with her blonde girls scattered in a million different directions on her head. Her pink and white t-shirt is raised up around her chubby belly and her little diaper looks heavy and full from the parts I can see that aren’t covered with her fluffy, white blanket. Her arms are up over her head, and her favorite duck is tucked between her ear and her arm. She sleeps with her mouth slightly open, the way I do sometimes. But she’s snoring ever so lightly and I don’t snore ever, so I wonder if maybe she gets that from Puck.

I know it’s not 4:30 yet, but I just can’t wait to hold her and cuddle her and let her get to know me. Maybe she can just finish her nap on my chest or something. And plus, there’s no way Shelby will ever know that I woke her up a little early. So I bend over and reach down into the playpen so I can pick her up, but that’s when I hear the sound of the door opening and I kind of jump away, like I was about to do something wrong.

_ This whole thing feels wrong and I don’t know why. I don’t know why it feels so wrong to hold my daughter, but it does. It feels like somehow I’m intruding in on Shelby’s space or something. It’s like… like she’s not mine, but she is. She is mine. But I don’t feel like she’s mine. And I don’t feel like I’m allowed to hold her while she sleeps or wake her up because I want to love on her or kiss her. I just don’t feel like I’m able to do these things. _

I turn around and face the door, not really surprised when I see Rachel walking through it, but totally elated that she’s here. _ I missed her… I missed her so much. I saw her just yesterday but it feels like it’s been so much longer… _

“Nowhere in the forecast did it say that it’s supposed to snow, yet here it is,” she grumbles, kicking her wet shoes off by the door and shrugging out of a red trenchcoat that almost completely matches the one Shelby had on. “I hate when winter comes.”

“Oh yeah?” I leave the playpen and walk over to where she’s standing. “Is it sticking? Are the roads bad? I hope Shelby’s okay.”

“It’s not really sticking,” Rachel takes her hat off too and hangs it up on the coat rack. She runs her fingers through her hair and I sort of can’t believe that she’s my girlfriend. She’s my girlfriend and I want to kiss her and because she’s my girlfriend, I don’t have to wait swallow the fact that I want to kiss her. I’m able to just go for it and kiss her. “The roads are fine, actually.”

“Yeah?” I lean in and tilt my head and she automatically catches my drift. She tilts her head to the side opposite of mine and leans in until our lips touch. “Missed you,” I mumble as soon as our kiss is done and we pull away.

“I missed you too,” she licks her lips. “So where’s Beth? Is she sleeping?”

“Yeah, Shelby said not to wake her up until 4:30, so I’m just waiting,” I sigh. “Maybe we can find something to watch on TV or something.”

“Or you can just pick her up,” Rachel shrugs and flops down on Shelby’s couch like this is something she does all the time and I’m starting to wonder exactly how many times she’s been over here. She picks up the remote and turns the TV on. “It won’t matter if you wake her up now, it’s only 15 minutes from 4:30.”

“Yeah, but Shelby said —“

“She won’t get mad. She just doesn’t like for Beth to sleep _ past _4:30 because she won’t fall asleep at night if she does. I made that mistake once,” she flicks through the channels. “If you don’t pick her up, I will.”

“No, it’s okay,” I shake my head and go back over to the playpen. She’s so perfect, the way she sleeps like she’s had a long day. Now that I know it’s okay to do it, I reach down into the playpen and secure my hands underneath her armpits. When I pick her up, her head rolls back and every time I hold her, I’m so surprised at how heavy she is. “Okay,” I whisper as I adjust her and put her head on my shoulder.

She’s still asleep as she lies on my shoulder, so I sit down with her on the couch next to Rachel and slip my hand up underneath her shirt so I can rub the skin on her back. Her diaper is squishy and extremely full, and she smells like she peed but I’m just gonna have to wait to change her. I love how I can feel her breathing against my neck and I want to cry because I finally feel like I am her mother. She’s sleeping on my shoulder and I’m rubbing her back and I’ve never felt so much love directed at one human being in my life. It’s like my heart is swelling or something.

“Rocky Horror’s on,” Rachel finally settles on a channel. “Unless you want to watch Scream, that’s on HBO.”

“Either one’s fine,” I try to speak as low as possible so I don’t wake my baby. “Rach?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have to lie to your dads when you come over here?” 

She lowers the remote a little, as if my question came as a shock to her. And she’s silent for a minute, like she’s calculating an answer inside of her head. She won’t look at me, her attention is completely on the TV, but I don’t mind. Because my attention is solely on Beth, to be honest.

“No,” she finally mumbles, raising the remote back up like she regained her confidence. “I don’t have to lie to them. They’d understand and be really supportive of it and stuff. But I just kinda lie anyway. I’ll tell them I’m hanging out with friends or something. I just don’t want to hurt their feelings.”

“No, I get it,” I take my hand away from Beth’s back so I can hold Rachel’s for a second. “Just because they’re not mad about you seeing Shelby doesn’t mean you want to make them feel bad.”

“Exactly. And I know they’d never be mad about it. They would never yell at me or anything about it, but I know it would break their hearts if I even tried to explain to them what having Shelby in my life means, so. Why bother? It doesn’t matter if I’m not where they think I am. Everybody wins.”

“I get it.”

“They wanna see Shelby,” she hangs her head like she just made a big confession to me. She kinda did, though. Because I get the feeling that Shelby knows nothing about it.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, invite her to dinner or something.” Rachel looks at the TV like she’s watching it, but I can tell that she’s not. She’s sort of just staring through it. Like she sees something beyond it. “They wanna talk to her about their… guidelines about seeing me or whatever.”

“So why don’t you just let them talk to her? It’s not that big of a deal, is it? I mean, as long as they’re not saying that you can’t see her.”

“Because I don’t want guidelines, Quinn,” she finally looks at me and I can see the tears filling up in her eyes, which breaks me. This is really bothering her… I wish she’d have talked to me earlier. But then I realize that she probably felt like she couldn’t. Because I’m so messed up with my own issues. “I don’t want them saying that I can only see her on weekends between seven and eight or whatever stupid limits they’re going to put on it. Would you want somebody to do that to Beth? Tell her where and when she can see you?”

“No,” I admit, shaking my head. “But maybe they think they’re just trying to protect you.”

“By lying to me? My whole life, they let me believe this stupid fairytale story. That they found a surrogate and mixed their sperm together and I was completely conceived out of love. And I was so stupid. I was stupid enough to believe it. But they lied to me, Quinn. They lied. That’s not how it happened at all. Shelby put me up for adoption because she didn’t want me. There was no love involved.”

“Rachel, stop it. You don’t know that. You don’t know that, okay? Your dads were just trying to keep you from feeling exactly how you’re feeling now. They were protecting you and they still are.”

“I don’t need them to do that, though. I’ll be seventeen in December, I’m not a baby. My whole life… I mean seriously, since I was old enough to understand that I didn’t have a mother like everyone else… I just wondered about her. I wondered who she was or where she was. I wondered what she did for a living, if she was into music and performing like me because my dads don’t have one entertaining bone in their bodies. I wondered if I looked like her, if I sounded like her. I wondered so much, Quinn. So much. And it was like a part of me was never complete because I just spent my life wondering. So when I found her, I… I don’t know,” she shrugs her shoulders as a tear streams down her cheek. “I felt whole. Like the part of me that was missing my whole life was there again. And Shelby is… amazing. She’s just like me. I’m her daughter, through and through. It’s easy to see it, we look just like each other, we talk alike, we share the same dramatic outlook on life. She’s amazing… and I don’t want to go back to a life without her because it might hurt my dads’ feelings if I get too close.”

“Well, you—“

“And I know I’m coming off too strong, but I can’t help myself. I invite her to sectionals when I don’t even really invite my dads. I’m always texting her to see how her day is. I’m always asking to have dinner, I’m always over here and I tell her that I just want to see Beth but in reality…”

“Rachel, you —“

“Don’t say I’m being dramatic, Quinn. Don’t. I know it might not be as serious as I’m making it seem, but you don’t know what it’s like to feel like a part of you is missing. You don’t know what it’s like to be missing a piece of you and then finding that piece of you and finding out that they’re every bit as amazing as you dreamed.”

“I do,” I grab ahold of her hand. “I know exactly how you feel and I wasn’t going to say any of that. You know, when I had Beth… it sounds crazy, but I kept feeling like a piece of my heart was outside of my body. Then when Shelby took her away, I had to learn how to live without her. I had to learn how to function with this giant hole in my heart. I know exactly how you feel. ...And I know Shelby must feel about you.”

“Well how does she feel?”

“Scared,” I sigh. “Scared all the time now that you’re back in her life. Scared because what if she doesn’t live up to any of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said. I mean that… that she walked around for sixteen years, learning how to live with the hole in her heart that you were supposed to be filling. She spent sixteen years of her life, teaching herself to cope with the emptiness she felt. And she learned how. She learned how to manage and keep the raw emotions she felt under control. But then you found each other. After sixteen years, you found each other. And all those wounds she spent years trying to patch up? Well, now they’re broken open again. And she has to deal with them in her own time. Maybe you are coming on a little strong, making yourself in her presence when she’s still trying to figure it out. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want you around. It just means that she’s scared. Scared that she won’t live up to whatever expectations you have for her in your head.”

Things are silent between us for a few moments, like she’s taking in everything that I said and I’m taking it in myself. It’s not that me and Shelby discussed all of this when we had dinner together back at sectionals, it’s just that when I looked into her eyes as I was sitting across the table from her, I felt like we were two brains on the same wavelength. I saw myself inside of her. I saw how that could be me, sixteen years from now, sitting across from some little girl that I just adopted a baby from, while managing having Beth back in my life. Me and Shelby just got each other. Me and Shelby just clicked.

“...Quinn?” Is the first thing Rachel days when she opens her mouth again.

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean it? When you said that you loved me yesterday, did you mean it?”

“...Yes,” I nod. “I meant it a lot.”

“Me, too.” She picks the remote back up and resumes going through the channels. “It’s 4:30, so you can wake her up now.”

“Right,” I whisper, suddenly remembering that my perfect baby is snoozing right on my shoulder. “Shelby told me to give her a bath when she wakes up, so I’m gonna… go do that.”

As I slowly get off the couch, I feel like me and Rachel took steps towards a deeper relationship and I couldn’t be any happier. I know it’s dangerous to place your worth and recovery on one person, that’s something me and Jessica have talked about in the past. But I really feel like I can kick all of this. I feel like I can beat this depression and this anxiety and this PTSD because I have Rachel. I have Rachel by my side and she’s going to go through everything right along with me. I love her, I do. I love her in the way that people write long love stories about. And nothing can ever change that.

_ I’m so glad she talked to me. I wonder how long she’s been feeling this way, how long she’s been harping over her dads lying to her. I know that must be hard for her. To find out that her life story was one big lie, it must be tough. But I’m here for her. I’m here for her and I…. _

_ Oh my god. _

_ Oh my GOD! _

As I’m carrying sleeping Beth to the bathroom, I turn around and look at her. Look at her as she’s sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath her body and still looking for something to watch. That’s my girl. That’s my Rachel, my perfect, beautiful _ girlfriend _. That’s her. And I’m looking at her because I just realized something that might actually be true and I feel like I should tell her but I can’t. I can’t tell her… god, no. I can’t.

I’m looking at her because I just realized that if her dads lied to her about how she was conceived… then she must have been conceived the old fashioned way.

And if she was conceived the old fashioned way, through sex and stuff, then…

Shelby’s words keep ringing in my head… I can’t get them out now…

_ “He was really, really nice to me, my professor. He was really nice. ...Until he wasn’t,” she shrugs her shoulders gently. “He made a move and I laughed it off. He made another, so I told him no. Then he pushed me, and the rest is history…” _

I’m not 100% sure, but I think that’s what Shelby was really trying to tell me…

I can’t tell Rachel. Not unless I’m 100% sure.

So I just take Beth back to the bathroom and run her bath water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to be clear that I’m not backtracking and I haven’t made a mistake in regards to Quinn’s age. She is sixteen — a junior in high school — not seventeen. The entire story does say that she is seventeen, but as I tried to explain in the chapter, having Beth and going through what she went through made her feel older and she has been adding a year onto herself (normal for someone with dissociative episodes) because of how she feels. She hasn’t felt like a sixteen year old kid in a very long time and it takes Mrs. Jones to make her realize that she is just a child and needs to stop “rounding up” and adding years to her life just because of the way her trauma makes her feel. I hope I made that clear in the chapter, but in case I didn’t, I just wanted to explain so nobody was confused or thinks that I’m just backtracking. Quinn is sixteen and has been saying that she’s seventeen since the beginning of the story because her birthday is soon and that’s how old she feels anyway. Everyone else just figures that she is rounding her age up because her birthday is soon and they go along with her saying that she’s seventeen, with the exception of Mrs. Jones, who believes that Quinn should be as young as possible.


	41. What About Us?

_ October 31 _

_ We are on a losing streak with the boys and it’s really starting to irritate me, because we are the superior singers and dancers and I don’t know why Mr. Schue keeps saying that we’re not. _

_ Mercedes did an awesome job on our costumes for the boys vs. girls competition today, and we blew the boys out of the water with our makeup by far. Mercedes and Tina ran to the store yesterday to rummage through all the leftover Halloween costumes that kids have already picked through, and they were able to find dark green cupcake skirts, like the ones little kids wear in those child beauty pageants. They spent the night over Tina’s house, dying long-sleeved white t-shirts from Walmart dark green and bombing them with silver glitter. _

_ Before our performance, we all piled up into the bathroom and put our costumes on. We tucked our t-shirts into our cupcake skirts and tied dark green satin ribbons in our hair. We pulled sexy fishnet stockings up onto our hips and stepped into our dark green high heels, and Tina went around hot-glueing fake leaves to our bows and our shirts. I used my curling iron to put tight, neat, spiral curls into everyone’s hair, then painted dark green and silver eye makeup onto everyone. We looked great, I swear we did. The costumes were the right amount of flashy, but classy. The right amount of sexy, but subtle. And we made sure we looked like plants without actually rolling around in dirt and painting ourselves green. _

_ When we walked into the auditorium and saw the boys dressed like dirtballs, we knew we had it in the bag. They had dirt and oil stains on their jeans, rips and tears in their shirts. The amount of hair gel they must have used to get their hair to stand up the way they all did must have been insane, and they painted their faces white with very sloppy hands. If it wasn’t for the fake blood that Tina let Mike borrow, nobody would have known they were supposed to be zombies. _

_ Santana stood center stage, working the hell out of her costume. If I wasn’t so crazy in love with Rachel, I might have fallen off the stage and drooled over her. She stood in the middle of the stage with her hands on her lips and her microphone clipped to her ear. The stage was completely dark just like Rachel had told us she envisioned it, and a dark green spotlight shone down on Santana. _

_ Her voice was so sultry and sexy when she looked at Mr. Schue, Beiste, Pillsbury and the boys and started saying the famous opening lines. I felt chills go down my spine when she said “On the 21st day of the month of September, in an early year a decade not too long before our own, the human race suddenly encountered a deadly threat to its very existence. And this terrifying enemy surfaced as such enemies often do, in the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places…” _

_ I saw the way Mr. Schue smiled when the curtains flew apart and the rest of us flooded the stage and started singing the “little shop, little shoppa horrors!” part. Beiste’s foot was tapping, Pillsbury’s head was bobbing, and Mr. Shue watched us like every move we made was magical. He even stood up when me, Brittany, Lauren and Sugar all went down the line and said “look out!” I swear I thought we had it in the bag. The way they responded to us while we were performing and the way they all clapped when Rachel and Mercedes shared the last “oh no’s” of the song… I swear we were gonna win. I just knew it. _

_ But then we all sat down where the boys were sitting because we wanted to be as courteous of an audience as they were. We sat down and we allowed ourselves to enjoy the assignment, because we just knew that they were no competition for the production that we put on. Still, the auditorium was silent when Zombie Blaine actually walked like a zombie to the front of the stage. _

_ The rest of the boys sat down at the edge of the stage, legs hanging over the side. Their necks were bent at uncomfortable angles and Mike even let his arm dangle like it was broken or something. I think they were supposed to appear dead. There weren’t any lights on the stage when Blaine started to sing, and I even mouthed along to the beginning, “Remember the words you told me, love me ‘til the day I die.” There we’re not lights on the stage and the other boys stayed perfectly still until Blaine’s verse was over. Finn was the first boy to stand up. He got on his feet slowly, like a real zombie would, I assume. And he and Blaine both sang the “you push and you push and I’m pulling away” part together. _

_ The lights didn’t come on on the stage until the chorus started, and that’s when all the boys stood up and started dancing like they were in a cheap knockoff version of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” I’ll admit that they were entertaining, though. I was sitting next to Rachel and she was holding my hand and as she was singing, she was pulling my arm to get me into it with her and it wasn’t long before I found myself singing, “Youngblood. Say you want me, say you want me, out of your life and I’m just a dead man walking tonight.” _

_ Mr. Schue, Beiste and Pillsbury didn’t clap and whistle for them as loud and they clapped and whistled for us, and I thought maybe it was because their song was such a bad choice. I know the song sounds creepy like a Halloween song, but it’s not. It’s a crappy little boyband song and their zombie theme was a bit dated and far-fetched for the song choice. What we did with Little Shop of Horrors was totally on point for the assignment, and there was absolutely no way we weren’t going to win. _

_ But then Mr. Schue stood up and told us that he had a really hard time choosing a winner because we both knocked the assignment out of the park. And he went on and on about how one group just out-performed the other group and he was blown away by the costumes of the group and the theatricality and the way their theme all tied together. Needless to say, I wanted to get up and punch Mr. Schue when he announced that the boys were the winner. _

_ Matters were made worse when I looked at my phone and saw that Shelby cancelled my babysitting plans tonight to take Beth trick or treating. _

_ To make ourselves feel better after losing, Tina suggested that we hang out tonight and have our own little girl’s night Halloween party since tomorrow is a teacher in-service day and we don’t have school. We had it all planned out, too. After Glee club, we were going to head down to Breadstix for dinner and then we were going to go back to Rachel’s house since it’s the biggest between all of us and her dads would let us use the finished basement without bothering us. Me and Mercedes were going to pitch in for the pizzas and Santana was going to ask her cousin to buy us booze. Brittany has a firestick that she somehow managed to jailbreak without any help, so that was our access to unlimited scary movies. Sugar’s dad let her have his credit card to buy us unlimited amounts of Halloween candy, and Lauren was going to bring the board games. Then Tina was going to bring every single blanket and pillow in her house so we could make a big bed on the floor. For the first time since sectionals, I was actually excited about something. I wasn’t so bummed out that I wasn’t going to get to see Beth tonight, because I had plans with my friends. _

_ Then it dawned on me that I’m grounded and I’m not allowed to do anything, and I got sad all over again because I really wanted to hang out with my friends and not have time to mope around and be sad about missing my baby’s trick or treating. _

_ The group cancelled for me, which I thought was sweet. We rescheduled for next weekend when I’m officially “off punishment” and I guess it’s nice that I have something to look forward to, but I just really wanted it to be tonight. It’s safe to say that I’ve learned my lesson about running away, and it feels kind of weird to have an adult follow through with punishing me. Normally, Mom would just say that I’m grounded but then five seconds later, she’d give in and forget about why she grounded me in the first place. Mrs. Jones isn’t giving in. I’m in trouble, and the only place she lets me go is over to Shelby’s to see Beth. _

_ Tonight was supposed to be the first night I was alone with her. _

_ I asked Rachel before at breakfast this morning if she wanted to come with me to babysit again and she said yes, but then she said she won’t. She wanted to come, but she also wants me to get my own bonding time with Beth and she didn’t think that Beth would be able to bond with me if she was there all the time, so she said she wouldn’t come. And I didn’t really realize how much I wanted to be alone with Beth until she said that she wouldn’t come. _

_ Yesterday was awful, I think. Beth stayed asleep on my shoulder as I walked into the bathroom, and she finally woke up when I started running her bath water. As soon as she woke, she picked her sleepy little head up and looked at me with red, squinted eyes. She blinked a few times, yawned, then got a really good look at me. Then she started to cry. Hard, too. It was the kind of cry that I thought babies only ever cry when they’re in pain. She wailed for at least ten seconds, then sucked in a really deep breath for like thirty seconds. It was so long that I got scared and screamed for Rachel because I thought she couldn’t breathe. Rachel came running into the bathroom with us, all prepared to do CPR if she needed to. I know how to do CPR on a baby myself, but I was freaking out too much to remember. But as soon as Rachel knelt down in front of us, Beth started breathing again and she reached for Rachel. I didn’t want to give her up, but I wanted her to calm down. So I gave her to Rachel and Rachel calmed her down in a matter of seconds. _

_ I think Rachel knew that I was about to cry, because she just put her hand on my knee and told me that Beth was only crying because she went to sleep with Shelby and woke up without Shelby and that was very confusing for her. She undressed Beth for me and threw her dirty diaper into the garbage in the kitchen and never came back. Beth just sat on the rug, naked with tears still in her eyes, looking at me. _

_ I picked her up and put her in the water but as soon as her little foot touched the water, she clawed at my skin like I was trying to drown her or something and I didn’t want to call Rachel again because I didn’t want to seem incompetent with my own kid. Beth grabbed my body and her little nails dug in, so I thought for a moment that maybe the water was hurting her or something. So I stuck my hand down into the water to feel it for myself and lo and behold, the water burned me. Beth screamed loud as can be as I pulled her out of the water and I wanted to close the door because I didn’t want Rachel to see or hear the way I started to cry and apologize when I held her. And then I thought… how could I ever be a good mother if I’m too stupid to check the bath water before putting my baby inside of it? _

_ I ran new bath water, sure to test it before putting Beth inside that time. And I still don’t know, but I really hope that she doesn’t remember me as the girl who burned her with hot water. _

_ She sat inside the new water, shivering and whining at the same time. I gave her a bath the way I always dreamed of. I always dreamed of washing her little body with one of these tiny rags. I dreamt of the way the purple nighttime body wash would smell as I scrubbed it against her skin and wondered if maybe her hair got really dark like mine when it is wet. _

_ I started to rinse the shampoo out of her hair with my hands, but somehow water ran down onto her face and she freaked out again, so I grabbed her towel and just pulled her out. Now I’m the girl who burned her and tried to drown her. _

_ She was still a little whiny when I took her to her bedroom and laid her down on the changing table. Rachel picked out pajamas and a diaper and left her lotion by the changing table for me, which I was grateful for. I rubbed lotion all over her skin and she kept looking at me like she was afraid of me or something, which honestly just hurt more than anything. I put her into her diaper and her pajamas and brushed her hair, and Rachel had the bottle warmed and the baby food waiting for me. _

_ I tried to feed it to her as we sat on the floor but she kept turning her head and looking for Rachel, so then I asked Rachel to feed her and when Rachel got down on the floor, she suddenly ate the entire jar. I sat on the couch and just watched, honestly not believing that I was failing this horribly at watching my daughter. Rachel cleaned her face up with a baby wipe and gave her the duck she loves, and I finally told her that I felt like Beth hates me. _

_ Then Rachel said something that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. She picked Beth up and told me that Beth doesn’t hate me, she’s just a little confused by me is all. _

_ At first, I had no idea what she meant. How could a baby be confused by me? Rachel handed me the warmed bottle and then handed Beth over to me, which made her whine and reach for Rachel again. I tried to think of what she could have possibly meant by saying that Beth was confused by me, but I kept coming up short so I finally asked. _

_ Rachel sat down next to me and showed me how to hold Beth’s bottle in the way that she likes for it to be held. Then she asked me if I ever consider how my presence makes Beth feel. She told me that it’s clear that Beth remembers me, that was made clear by the way she reacted when I sang to her back in Hershey. Then she asked again if I ever consider how it must feel for a baby. She said that my presence probably makes Beth feel really unsettled and strange because she clearly knows that she is connected to me in some way, but doesn’t know how. And that must be pretty confusing for a baby. She told me that I should try and get to know Beth for who she is and I asked her how I could do that. She told me that I should talk to her whole I’m feeding her, so I did. _

_ I held her bottle and started telling her how I used to call her “little baby” because I didn’t have a name picked out for her. I started talking to her in the same voice I used to use while I was pregnant. I started rubbing her cheek the way I used to rub my stomach, and telling her all the stories about what life was like back when it was just me and her against the world. Stories of crying on railroad tracks and wishing a train would come hit me. Stories of how I stole from a gas station once because I really needed to feed her after not having the money to eat for a couple days. I started humming to her like I used to when she kicked me, and it started to feel like she was melting in my arms. Her entire body relaxed and she wasn’t super tense anymore. She looked up at me with those beautiful blue eyes and touched her hand to my cheek and I think if she could talk, she would have said “hey… I remember you!” I kissed her hand and she smiled at me, bottle nipple still in her mouth, milk running all down her cheeks. _

_ I know that I really don’t have any right to do what I did next, but I couldn’t help it. I was overwhelmed with so much love for her in that moment that I just took the bottle out of her mouth and kissed her on her lips. Her lips were so tiny that my lips were smudged somewhere between her nose and top lip and sure I could taste the Similac on my mouth because I didn’t wipe the milk away before I kissed her, but I didn’t care. Rachel smiled up at us from looking at her phone and didn’t even say “I told you so.” _

_ It’s funny now looking back at that moment because I used to think that being raped by Puck was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. But I was thinking in that moment that maybe it’s the best thing that ever happened to me because it led me to her. And I don’t know how it’s possible to feel both ways at once, but I know that it’s getting pretty exhausting to constantly be at war within myself. _

_ I think I’m ready to forgive Puck. I think I’m ready to let it all go. I just don’t want to walk around feeling so heavy anymore. _

_ I’m ready to start living my own life. _

* * *

_ November 2 _

_ The worst part about being grounded is watching Mercedes go out and do things with Sam, and wishing that I could go out and do things with Rachel. _

_ I spent the entire night last night just organizing my room. We had the entire day off of school to do absolutely nothing and I knew that if I wasn’t grounded, I would be doing absolutely nothing with Rachel. I woke up at noon just because I could, and when I reached over for my phone, I got super annoyed because I forgot that no school meant no phone. The rule was that I got my phone back during school hours only and since there was no school, I didn’t get my phone back at all. _

_ So after I woke up, I went downstairs to get some cereal and take my medicine and Mrs. Jones was in the kitchen cleaning out the fridge because she was going grocery shopping. She told me that she’d be back in a little while and to listen out for Mercedes because she went to go get breakfast with Sam before football practice. I was so mad because if I wasn’t grounded, we could have made it a double date. _

_ I was home alone and half tempted to go search the house for my phone and text Rachel to come over for a little while, because Mrs. Jones was out shopping. But then I got back upstairs to my room and I saw the really nice bedroom set that she bought for me and I remembered just how much I love and respect her. I respect her too much to disobey her rules and I did mess up, so it’s only fair for me to take my punishment in stride. _

_ I was so bored that I took my clothes out of my duffel finally, hung everything up in my closet and put everything in my drawers. _

_ Mrs. Jones gave me my phone back when she came home, but told me that she was still taking it away at nine. The first thing I did was text Rachel. _

_ I think I might be a little obsessed with her. It’s like every minute that I’m not with her, I’m thinking about when I will be. And when I am with her, I just want the moments to never end. I want to be the person who is closest to her in the world. I know Kurt is her best friend and since I’ve been grounded, she’s been taking the time to catch back up with him. When I texted her for a little yesterday, she said that she and Kurt were going to go see a play in Bowling Green and that she would text me later. I know Kurt is her best friend and I’m trying not to be jealous but I just wish it were me with her instead. _

_ The highlight of my day yesterday was finally unpacking my clothes and eating Mrs. Jones’ spaghetti for dinner. _

_ The highlight of my day today is getting to see Bailey after a week. I really missed her. _

* * *

_ November 3 _

_ Bailey missed me too. _

_ I finally gave her the big Reese’s Cup I bought her at Hershey and was so tickled by it. She opened it during our session and the two of us ate a couple pieces of it together, but it was too big for us to finish it so she took the rest home. She missed me so much that she brought me a little surprise to the session, too. She bought a giant coloring book for our sessions together, and we spent the entire session on the floor coloring a giant patterned panda bear for once. _

_ I told her about how the doctor put me on two new medicines and she already knew. She asked me how they were making me feel and I told her the truth, that I haven’t really been feeling anything so far, and she told me to just give it a minute for everything to kick in. I told her about how I ran away, too. And she was very disappointed in me when I told her, but also told me that she understands why I did it and what happened when I did. I told her that I didn’t feel like myself and she wrote down that I had an episode of mania and severe dissociation. _

_ I also told her that me and Rachel had sex and only when I told her did it finally feel real. I haven’t told anyone else that we did it and it felt like it was just living in my imagination until I told Bailey all about how right it felt. I told her that it felt like what me and Rachel were doing was the way it was supposed to be all along. I admitted to her that I felt some kind of shame afterwards, because I did. I thought that maybe if I didn’t talk about it then maybe it would just go away, but it didn’t. As soon as I started telling Bailey about it, I realized that it was still there underneath everything else I’ve felt this past week without talking to her. And I told her that I hate feeling ashamed because I know if I had sex with a boy instead of a girl, I wouldn’t be feeling so ashamed. _

_ I also told her about the talk me and Shelby had, and I asked her if she thought that I should tell Rachel what I highly suspect is true. _

_ She made a good point when she told me not to tell Rachel. _

_ She told me that it’s not my place to tell Rachel anything like that because it’s Shelby’s story to tell and not mine. She told me that it’s good that I have someone like Shelby that I can establish a relationship with, someone who’s been where I’ve been. And although Bailey doesn’t believe that Rachel is what resulted from Shelby’s encounter like mine, she does think it colored a lot of the decisions she made with giving Rachel up for adoption. _

_ Bailey isn’t entirely convinced that me watching Beth is a good idea. She doesn’t think I’m ready for that kind of emotional hurdle just yet, but she told me that I have her blessing. She just said that if she sees any changes in my behavior or mental state after beginning to watch Beth that she will schedule me one more session throughout the week and I agreed with that. _

_ She also suggested that maybe I should tell Mr. and Mrs. Jones everything about me — including the rape. _

_ But I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of thing yet. _

* * *

_ November 4 _

_ I’m trying really hard not to be jealous but I can’t help it. It’s like Rachel is forgetting all about me and obsessing over Kurt again and I don’t know where I fit into this picture. I won’t be “off punishment” for two more days and it is beginning to really wear me down. A lot can happen in a week, especially if you don’t have any clear lines of communication with your girlfriend. _

_ Rachel didn’t text me all weekend. We had a three day weekend and she only texted me twice, to tell me that she was hanging out with Kurt all weekend and then to tell me goodnight. I know I only have my phone certain hours of the day so it’s kind of hard to get a real conversation going, but she didn’t text me at all. I had to squeeze the goodnight text out of her by telling her goodnight first and even then, she took twenty whole minutes to text me back. _

_ At breakfast this morning, she told me that she missed me and then proceeded to tell me about the amazing weekend she had hanging out with Kurt and I’m glad that she had such a great time, but what about me? I missed her all weekend. I would have liked to have texted her or talked to her on the phone or FaceTime or something. On Friday, she and Kurt went to see a play in Bowling Green and then Saturday they went to see the last screening of the year for Rocky Horror down at the theater, then they had a sleepover. Even on Sunday, they went to breakfast and then they went to go watch The Warblers perform some nursing home. She spent the entire weekend with him and I’m glad she has her best friend back but I wanted her, too. _

_ I know it bothers her when I’m jealous, so I haven’t said anything to her about anything, but I really was just so upset today in Glee club when the two of them did a duet together. She used to sit beside me in Glee club but now she’s sitting by Kurt again I don’t like it. I feel like she’s forgetting about me and how do you forget about your own girlfriend? _

_ Does it make me selfish to want her all to myself? Does it make me insecure to wish that she would do the things she does with Kurt with me? _

_ I don’t mean anything by it, it’s just that I want to know everything about her and I don’t. I want to know the way her laugh sounds when the sunset turns into a sunrise. I want to know what she’s like when she’s deliriously tired or singing in the shower. I want to share in the things she likes to do, like going to Bowling Green to see a play. I don’t want to push her away so I don’t want to tell her that I’m upset, but I am. I’m very upset and I just want my Rachel back. I don’t care how selfish I sound, I want her all to myself. _

_ Doesn’t Kurt have a boyfriend of his own to spend time with? _

* * *

_ November 5 _

_ I don’t know if me and Rachel are still girlfriend and girlfriend. We haven’t done any girlfriend things since we kissed back at Shelby’s house nearly a week ago. _

_ She still hasn’t been texting me and she still has been choosing to hang out with Kurt in Glee club over me. I’m trying not to take it personally but it’s really hard. We started preparing for regionals with the songs Mr. Schue picked out, and I can’t even concentrate because all I can think about is how Kurt is stealing my laughter and smiles with her. _

_ Santana knew that I was upset today, and she sat with me in Glee club. She didn’t say anything, she just sat with me and it felt like moral support. Maybe she just needed someone who could relate to her because Brittany was all over Artie in rehearsals and we both felt like shit. I don’t know if I would call me and Santana’s relationship true friendship, but I know that I can count on her when things get rough on the gay side of things. She shows up for me when I need her to and I show up when she needs me too and it’s nothing but unspoken support. _

_ Mr. Schue excused us to get a drink and I went to the bathroom instead of the water fountain because I felt like I was going to cry when I saw Rachel gravitate towards Kurt. I didn’t see her follow me, but Santana followed me in and asked me, very bluntly, if she could cry with me. The two of us just sat in the handicap stall together with silent tears rolling down our cheeks. _

_ My point is that I don’t know if me and Rachel are still girlfriend and girlfriend and I really need to know because I kind of wanted to kiss Santana. _

_ We were both wiping our faces because our five minutes was up and we didn’t want anyone to know that we were crying our eyes out in the bathroom. We wiped our faces then fixed each other’s makeup and we both reached for the latch to the door at the same time. We reached for it and our hands touched and our eyes locked for a second and I know we both thought about kissing. _

_ We didn’t. But I think I wanted to, maybe a little bit because she was there for me. _

_ I really need to know if me and Rachel are still girlfriend and girlfriend because while I’m in love with her and I’m not in love with Santana, maybe Santana could be what I need. _

_ She seems just as emotionally dependent and jealous as I am. I don’t know if I will ever love her like I love Rachel. I don’t know if I’ll ever be as crazy about her as I am about Rachel. And truthfully, I know that Santana will never love me the way she loves Brittany. But maybe we could be good for each other. _

_ But I just really want my Rachel back. _


	42. Vision of Love

I raise my fist up to knock on the door even though Shelby texted me a few minutes ago and told me to just come inside because she has the door unlocked. Something about just barging into someone‘s house has always unsettled me and even though she gave me permission to do it, I’ll feel better if I knock. So I tap on the door three times, then I twist the doorknob and enter. She told me to be here at five instead of my usual time at four, so I hope I don’t walk in to Beth sleeping or cranky from waking up from a nap.

But it’s like I just walked into the middle of a tornado.

Shelby’s place is usually always very neat. Everything has its place here and everything is always in said place. But today, there are bottles overflowing from the sink, the can of formula is still on the counter with the lid off, a basket of baby clothes is on the loveseat, four or five dishtowels are making a trail on the floor from the kitchen to the bathroom door, and I have to step over a mess of shoes when I get into the door. It looks like a bomb went off in here or something.

“Is that you, Quinn?” Shelby calls from her bedroom, not too far away from where I stand in the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I call back and shrug out of my jacket. I’d hate to add to any of her mess, so I hang it up on the coat rack even though hers have all fallen to the floor. “Is everything okay?” I ask, kicking my shoes off beside the pile of hers.

“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m just running a little late,” she jogs into the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

Only when I walk a little further inside do I notice my girl. She’s sitting in the middle of the living room rug with a wooden block in her hand, but she doesn’t seem very interested in it. She’s just looking all around, taking in the sight of her mommy trying to hurry up and get dressed. Even she looks a mess today, just like the house. Shelby usually has her all dolled up. She’s usually wearing some sort of dress with little baby leggings or tights or a really cute shirt with matching pants. And her hair is always brushed. Shelby usually parts it on the left side and brushes it down and lets her curls fluff up in the back. But sitting there in the middle of the rug, she has one sock on, the other is laying by the couch. She has on a t-shirt that’s at least two sizes too big for her, and it’s not even buttoned between her legs like onesies should be. And her hair is a hot mess.

_ What is going on today? _

“Hi,” I make my voice soft as I kneel down next to her. “Hi, baby girl. What’s going on? Huh? What’s up? I haven’t seen you in a little while. I missed you.” I start by rubbing her chubby little arm and she doesn’t seem to mind. She just looks at my hand touching her arm and sighs.

“So here’s the deal,” Shelby comes bounding into the living room, still tying her hair up in a ponytail. “I’m so sorry about the mess, I haven’t had the chance to clean today. Beth’s already had a bath today, but she’s been going to the bathroom a lot and it’s been really runny and explosive and if you go to change her and it’s all up her back again, you can give her another bath. She isn’t feeling well today, so I’m going to try and get my lessons done as fast as possible. I hate to leave her with you when she’s so sick, but I already cancelled for trick or treating last week and if I cancel again, I’m sure my one kid’s mother will be finding him a new voice teacher, so.”

“It’s okay,” I shake my head and sit down directly next to Beth. I find that she freaks out a little less when I don’t come on super strong. She doesn’t freak out so much whenever I ease her into my presence. “You go and do what you have to do. I’ll be here, she’ll be safe. Don’t feel like you need to rush.”

“You’re the best, Quinn,” Shelby shoves her feet into shoes and yanks a jacket onto her body. “Just try to make sure she drinks a lot of that Pedialyte I have in the fridge, and if she wants to sleep all evening, that’s okay. Let her sleep.”

“Got it.”

“I should be home around 8-8:30.”

“No problem.”

“Okay, I’ll see you,” she slips out of the door without even saying bye to Beth, which she usually does so I know today must be a really rough one. She seems so overwhelmed and under so much stress. I know I only watch Beth for a few hours in the evening and it’s only so she can go to work and make some extra money to keep the bills paid, but I wish there was more I can do to help her out.

When the door closes behind Shelby, I’m already expecting Beth’s little face to crack up and her mouth to open and for the cries to come out because she always cries when Shelby leaves. But this time — and I don’t know if it’s only because she’s sick and not feeling well or what — but this time, there are no tears and no sad faces made. My baby girl just looks over her shoulder at the door, watches as it closes, then looks down at the floor. Her bottom lip slides out from underneath her top lip as she pokes it out and her mouth is in a cute little frown, but she doesn’t cry.

“Yeah, she’ll be back,” I put my hand on her back to comfort her even though she doesn’t really need it. “She always comes back, doesn’t she?”

What she does next really surprises me because I genuinely never thought I’d see the day where she actually wanted me. I thought that I would be watching Beth every Wednesday and Thursday for the next few years and I’d just be a babysitter that she has to deal with. I don’t know if I ever expect for Shelby to tell her who I am and I don’t know if she’ll ever put two and two together and ask. But I never truly expected that I would be someone that Beth actually wants to see and get to know. So it’s needless to say that I am shocked and surprised when her little arms reach out and up at me, like she’s asking me to pick her up.

And even when I pick her up, she doesn’t cry. There’s no tears and flailing of the limbs and screaming. I just pick her up and my god it feels like I’m holding that missing piece of my heart in my hands. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like I feel whole again, which is a very big deal. Every time I hold her, I remember that this little human is a piece of me and who I am as a person. She looks exactly like me, she feels exactly like me and I am so glad that I made someone like her. It’s kind of amazing when I think about the fact that she grew inside of me. And I know that Shelby loves her, I will never take that away from her. But it’s hard to imagine that Shelby could love her _ this _much.

She nestles her face into my neck and I can’t help but feel like this is what it was supposed to be all along. And it’s dangerous territory to allow my thoughts to wander off into this place, but I really can’t help myself. I really can’t help but wonder what it would be like if I did this. Mom would be in love with her, I already know that. Mom loved her the moment she met her and I still don’t believe she has fully forgiven me for letting Shelby adopt her. Mom would watch her while I went to school during the day and during Glee club in the afternoon. Then I’d get home and she’d be my girl for the rest of the night. I’d get into the shower with her against my body or sit in a bath with her, too. And I’d rub all that little baby lotion on her perfect little skin before putting her into pajamas. And Mom would probably be the strict one saying that she needs to be on a schedule and asleep before 7:00, but I’d take her to my room and shut the door and just love on her until she was tired enough to fall asleep. She could have easily been my girl. I could have easily done it.

_ But then she’d be raised by the great Judy Fabray like me and god knows how bad that would mess her poor, sweet, innocent little self up. Unless… _

I smile to myself at the thought of us living with the Joneses. I can see it now. Every day when me and Mercedes came home from school, Mrs. Jones would have her in the kitchen with her while she cooked and she’d be singing and Beth would be smiling. Or Mr. Jones would have her hanging out in the recliner with him and they’d be watching The Simpsons while Mr. Jones doled out those little melt in your mouth yogurt bites made for babies. He’d eat three for every one that Beth ate and the two of them would be best buddies. Even Whitney and Bobby would be protective of her. I can hear Whitney barking at anyone who came close to her and Bobby growling at anyone who dares to touch her. God, Beth would have had such a great life with the Joneses. It would’ve just been all of us and it would have been such a great way for her to grow up, surrounded by all that creativity and unwavering love and support.

With her face all snuggled up into my neck, Beth has started to fall asleep, so I grab a blanket off the floor and wrap it around her before I lie down on the couch with her on my chest and grab the remote. I don’t know if Shelby would care that I hold her while she sleeps. I know most moms usually have a problem with that because they say it spoils the baby, but me and Shelby have never really discussed that and quite frankly, I hope we never do. I like to hold Beth while she sleeps. I like to feel the weight of her against my chest and the way her body moves when she breathes. I like to feel connected to my girl the same way I felt when she was inside of me.

As I turn on the TV, Beth stuffs her middle finger and her ring finger into her mouth and starts to suck on them. She moves her head slightly to the side, between my boobs, and closes her eyes so she can go to sleep. And after I kiss the top of her little head, I pick up my phone and open up me and Rachel’s text thread.

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**5:24 p.m.**

**ME: **hey.

**ME: **so i’m officially un-grounded and i have my phone and my car back. i got them both back after school. so yay!

After I send the next to Rachel, I lock my phone back up and sift through the channels to find something interesting to watch for as long as my girl is asleep. I settle on an old rerun of Maury, an episode about some girls not knowing who their baby daddies are. I know I shouldn’t watch this crap on TV, but I’m a sucker for it. I watch entirely too much trashy reality TV and talk shows.

And I’m able to watch the show and concentrate on the show for about ten minutes before the fact that she hasn’t answered me back yet starts to infiltrate my thoughts. I’m a little worried because Rachel usually texts me back really fast but it’s been ten minutes, so what the hell? Is she definitely ignoring me?

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**5:35 p.m.**

**ME: **are you mad at me or something?

  
  


I send the next message and try to focus on the TV again, try to get her out of my thoughts. The episode is over when my phone finally buzzes, though.

**New iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**6:06 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Hey sorry. Me and Kurt just got out of a show. We went to go watch VA perform so we can size up the competition for regionals and I turned my phone off during.

**6:07 p.m.**

**ME: **it’s ok.

  
  


Except, it’s really not okay. It’s frustrating, actually. It’s so frustrating that I can feel my girlfriend and the person I love literally drifting away from me. I can feel the distance growing between us and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I don’t want to be that mean girlfriend who says she can’t hang out with her friends, but what about me? She’s just hanging out and hanging out and hanging out with Kurt and if it’s not Kurt then it’s Finn and we’re drifting apart and I don’t know how in the world I’m supposed to stop it. What if I lose her? Then what am I going to do? She’s the only good thing in my life…

**New iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**6:39 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **What are you doing?

**RACHEL: **How was your day?

  
  


_ See what I mean?! She takes half an hour to text me back all of a sudden when she usually only takes maybe a minute or two! Something is definitely wrong! _

I hate myself for thinking this way, I really do. But I just know that she’s still with him and I don’t want her to be. I don’t want her to be with Kurt. I want her to be with me. I want her to be lying on the couch like I am and I want her to just be texting me and only me. I want her to care about me and only me. I know it’s selfish, I know it’s controlling, I know it’s unhealthy. I know she’s allowed to have friends. But I want her. She’s my girlfriend and I don’t get all of her time then who does? I don’t want to control her, I don’t want to tell her who she can and cannot talk to but I just want her to talk to me! Stop taking so long to text me back… I’m more important than Kurt… aren’t I?

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**6:41 p.m.**

**ME: **i’m over shelbys watching beth.

**ME: **want to join us?

**6:42 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **No.

**6:42 p.m.**

**ME: **why not?

**ME: **is something wrong between us? did i do something to piss you off?

  
  


And then it’s radio silence all over again. 6:42 turns to 6:43 and 6:43 turns to 6:44. And before I know it, it’s 7:00 and it feels like an eternity since we’ve talked. And I know I’m being selfish, I’m going to keep saying that. I _ know _, okay? But she shouldn’t be able to treat me like this. She shouldn’t be able to just pick and choose when she wants to talk to me and text me and she shouldn’t be able to just ignore me. I mean, I’d probably still be pretty upset if she did this, but it takes NO time at all to just tell me that she’s going to be replying a little sketchy because she’s still with Kurt. It’s all about Kurt anymore. It’s never about us. It’s just not fair. It’s not fair at all. She’s my girlfriend. Why do I have to compete for her?

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**7:04 p.m.**

**ME: **look idk what’s going on but i’m starting to think that you don’t care.

  
  


And there’s still nothing after ten minutes and I see that she actually turned her read receipts off all of a sudden when she usually has them on for me. And I’m starting to get really, really mad now.

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**7:14 p.m.**

**ME: **well if you even care, i’ll be over shelbys until quarter to 9. if you care though.

  
  


I lock my phone again and put it on the arm of the sofa, and that’s when it really starts to set in. I think I lost my girlfriend. I think I officially lost the only thing that has been keeping me going lately. How could she do this to me? How could she just shut me out without even talking to me first? We could have worked this out. We could have easily worked this out and talked it through but she just keeps shutting me out. She keeps shutting me out and turning to her friends instead of me and now I feel lost. I feel lost without her and sad and I just want her back.

I know things changed after we had sex. After we had sex, things were really good for a minute and then they just… weren’t. I thought having sex with her was going to change everything in a good way, but now I think it changed everything in a bad way. We had sex and now everything is falling apart and what used to be the best experience of my life is now the worst and it’s all because having sex with her changed everything. I just don’t understand where everything went wrong. How did it all fall apart? What did I do? What did I —

Before I can finish that thought and get too deep inside my own head and make myself too depressed, Beth suddenly twitches against my chest and it kind of feels like she just had a miniature seizure or something because her movement was extremely jerky. I lift my head up slightly to make sure she’s okay, but she starts to cry after jerking like that, so I sit completely up to see if I can figure out what’s wrong with her.

As soon as I sit up though, I feel it. It’s hot and it’s runny and it’s all over my shirt. And right after I feel it… I start to smell it.

_ Please tell me she didn’t... _

I slowly peel the blanket away from her sweaty little body just to make sure I’m actually right and actually smelling what I think I’m smelling, and not surprised when I see that it is _ exactly _what I thought it was. She went all over the blanket and now it’s dripping onto my shirt and oh my god, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next. Do I… do I clean it up first? Do I pick her up? If I pick her up, it might drip down onto Shelby’s rug and it looks like a rug too expensive to get baby poop all over it. And god, it smells horrible…. it smells so horrible…

I really don’t know what else to do, so I keep her body against mine and keep the blanket against her too so that it doesn’t drip onto the floor or anything, and I nearly run to the bathroom with her in my arms. I still haven’t figured out exactly what I’m supposed to do, so I just pull the shower curtain back and put Beth — blanket and all — into the little plastic baby tub. And while I think all of this through and think about what I should do next, I grab the baby wipes off the back of the toilet tank and scrub my shirt clean. She didn’t get it all over me as much as I thought she did. There’s only maybe one or two drops and it’s nothing serious.

But while I’m turned around and trying to clean myself off as I come up with a game plan, my girl sucks in a very deep breath… and she starts crying her little eyes out. Crying hard, too. Crying like she’s miserable and in pain and needs someone to help her or something. And when I turn around, my heart kind of sinks down into my stomach because all I see is my precious baby with her arms outstretched to me, begging for me to pick her up and hold her.

“Shh baby, it’s okay,” I kneel down beside the bathtub and start taking her blanket and her soiled clothes off. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

I put all her clothes onto the rug beside me, carefully wrapping them into the blanket so it doesn’t make a mess all over Shelby’s bathroom. When I take her diaper off, I take it off inside the bathtub and wrap it up so it doesn’t spill everywhere and put it on top of the blanket so I don’t forget to put it inside a plastic bag before I throw it away. And I know Shelby said that she’s been going to the bathroom all day, but her butt is really red. It’s like, really red. So red that maybe I should put something on it? Like diaper rash cream or something? Maybe some kind of ointment? Or powder? Something?

“I know, I know,” I try to console her because she’s still crying as I’m running the bath water and cleaning her off with my hands instead of a rag for now. I just don’t want to get it all caked inside of a rag and then have to use that rag to wash her body off with, so doing the initial rinse with my hands seems like the best way to do. And after she’s as clean as I can get her with my own hands, that’s when I let the tub fill up with water and start washing her with soap on the washcloth.

I wash her up fast, too. Fast because she’s still whimpering for me to hold her and I’m not strong enough to deny my baby girl any hugs or kisses, so I want to be as fast as possible for her. But when I turn around to get her towel out of the cabinet, she makes this weird noise and so I turn back around and that’s when I see that she just threw up inside the water.

“Oh no,” I mumble and scoop her up out of the water before it gets on her or anything. As soon as she’s back in my arms, her head goes back on my shoulder and she puts her hand against my chest.

Dangerous territory again, I know. But I think if I had kept her, I’d have nursed her. Back when I was pregnant and didn’t know if was keeping her or not, the idea of my boobs filling up with milk for a baby to drink really just freaked me out. I mean seriously, the idea of having her just latched onto my boob every time she wanted to eat or milking myself like a cow really just made my skin crawl. But after I had her, I understood why women choose to do that sometimes and when the nurse asked me if I wanted to practice latching her, I just started crying and my mom had to tell them that I wasn’t keeping her. In hindsight, I think the weirdest part about giving her to Shelby was how my body changed after. I went home from the hospital and I tried to make everything feel normal again and there were times when I succeeded. There were times where I was lucky enough to forget about the fact that I just had a baby but then my boobs would leak and then I remembered that my body still thought there was a baby for me to feed.

It’s not a healthy way for me to think and maybe I’ll talk about it on Saturday when I see Bailey again, but I’m starting to catch myself pretending like this is how it’s been all along. Pretending like this quaint, chic little apartment actually belongs to me. Pretending like she’s my baby and I don’t have to share her with anybody else. She’s all naked and exposed as she’s laying against my body, but she’s content to just listen to the sound of me breathing with her hand on my chest feeling my heart beating, and I just really feel like her mother.

I really don’t want to give up this moment. I wish I could stay right here with my sweet baby, still damp and laying on me. But I don’t want her to have another accident all over me and I really need to get a diaper on her before that happens, so I have to take her off my shoulder and lay her down on the changing table.

It’s a weird feeling to be so torn. Because as she’s laying there on the changing table, about to cry because I put her down and looking at me with those pretty little eyes, it’s pure instinct the way I grab the Desitin from the side pouch next to the diapers. It’s like my body is on autopilot or something and I don’t have to think about how to take care of my baby, because I just stick my finger down into thick, pasty cream and start rubbing it on her butt and private parts.

But then I stop right in the middle of it because what if Shelby doesn’t want diaper rash cream on her? And that’s so weird to me, because on one hand, I feel like I’m her mother and I call the shots when I’m taking care of her. Except, I’m not her mother. At least not whenever it counts. And that’s very confusing to me.

I strap a diaper on her and pick her back up and I thought about putting another t-shirt on her or something, but I don’t think I’m going to do that because she’s just going to have a mess all over it again and it’ll only add to all the laundry Shelby has to do. When I pick Beth up again, she touches her hand against my cheek for a second, then moves over to grab my nose.

“Nose,” I say to her. “That’s my nose. That’s Mama’s nose. Your nose looks like that, too.”

She huffs and her head goes right back down to my shoulder, but she keeps her hand against my nose and I know it sounds crazy. I know it sounds like I’m delusional and I’m losing it or something, but I swear I can feel how she feels. I swear I can. It’s like there’s a string attached to my heart and to hers too and every time she feels something, I can feel it too. I can feel her telling me that she loves me.

Shelby told me to try and get her to drink some Pedialyte, so I carry her into the kitchen and pour a little into a bottle, but she doesn’t lift her head and seem real interested in drinking any, so I don’t really force her to.

With her hand now on my lips, I can still feel her telling me that she loves me… and I hope she can feel how much I love her too. I love her so much that I don’t even care when I feel something warm, running down the front of my shirt and seeping into my bra. It’s just throw up this time, so I don’t really rush to wipe it off. I just head back for the bathroom where I saw the last container of wipes and decide to wipe it up with that.

But before I can get to the bathroom, there’s a series of knocks on the door and I’m hoping that it’s Shelby so my baby can get some help. I want it to be Shelby so that she can get some kind of medicine to make her feel better and stuff, but I already know that it’s not. I already know that it’s Rachel. I haven’t checked my phone so I don’t know if she ever texted me back, but I have a feeling that it’s her. So I just go and unlock the door for her and stand there waiting for her to come in.

“Can you take her real quick?” I ask, handing Beth to her before she even shuts the door. She doesn’t have a chance to protest before I’m walking away, in search of wipes to clean the vomit off myself.

“Hi Bethy,” I hear Rachel cooing at her from inside the bathroom and it’s really helping to make me less mad at her. “Where are your clothes, girl? You’re nakers. Why are you nakers?”

I gather everything that she soiled up off the bathroom floor and strut back into the living room. “She’s not feeling well and she’s pooping all over her clothes so I’m just not going to put them on her,” I explain, talking under my breath. As soon as Beth sees me again, she’s holding her arms out for me and she starts crying.

“Here, take her,” Rachel hands her back to me. “I’ll finish cleaning up. I’m gonna go get the thermometer.”

“You think she’s running a fever?”

“She feels a little hot.”

Beth stops crying as soon as she’s back in my arms and I press my lips to her forehead. She’s so sick and I feel so bad that I can’t do anything about it. I wonder if Shelby feels like this. I wonder if she ever wishes that she can be sick for her, because that’s how I feel. I feel like I wish I could just take all her sickness away and absorb it myself.

Rachel comes back with the thermometer in tow, and Beth is just kinda limp as she shoves it underneath her armpit. “Is it the stomach flu or something?”

“I don’t know. I got here and Shelby said she’s been having diarrhea all day. She didn’t say anything about her throwing up, but she’s been throwing up since I got here.” I stroke her soft curls as we wait for the thermometer to read a result.

“Did you call Shelby? Did you tell her she’s been throwing up?”

“I can handle it, Rachel,” I don’t mean to, but it’s on instinct the way I kinda turn Beth away from Rachel. It’s not like I think she’s actually going to take Beth away from me, but my body feels like she might take Beth away from me. “I can handle my own baby.”

“Alright, I was just asking,” she pulls the thermometer from under Beth’s armpit when it beeps. “It’s 101.2.”

“So what — what should I do? Should I put her in a cold bath? Should I feed her like, ice cubes or something?” _ That’s a high fever, isn’t it? That’s high… I mean for a normal human it’s pretty low grade but she’s a baby. She’s just a baby, she’s not even eight months old yet, that’s a pretty big fever. What do I do? Is she gonna die? I heard babies can die if their fevers get high. _Rachel walks away from where me and Beth are standing, and I’m really just even more mad at her because how can she leave me if I’m freaking out like this?! “Rachel, what do we do?!”

“First, you calm down.” When she comes back into the living room with us, she’s shaking a bottle of purple liquid and I turn away from her with Beth again.

“What is that? I don’t — I don’t know about that I don’t know if we should give her anything she’s been throwing up and she’s probably dehydrated she won’t drink and she won’t keep it down anyway so maybe we shouldn’t and plus she’s only seven months old and I don’t even think they make doses that small see if you read the box I’m pretty sure you’re only supposed to give Tylenol to babies who are like two or something and we don’t know how much she weighs and she —“

“Quinn, chill out,” Rachel puts her hand up at me as she eyeballs the syringe very closely. “It’s just baby Tylenol and we’re just giving her half the recommended dose. We need to get her fever to break. Trust me.”

“But what if she doesn’t take it? What if she spits it out and —“ I look down and watch as Rachel eases the syringe inside her mouth. And Beth sucks on it while Rachel squirts it into her mouth like she’s a professional. _ How did she do that? _ “T-That’s it? That’s it? She took her medicine? That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Rachel rinses the syringe off in the sink and puts the bottle of Tylenol on the counter. “Your mommy senses are really tingling today.”

“Should we tell Shelby? That we gave her medicine? Should we tell her?”

“I’ll text her and let her know that she has a fever and we gave her Tylenol to get it to break,” she dries her hands on the only clean dish towel around and leans against the kitchen island. “...So what was that text message all about? That whole ‘if I care’? What did that mean?”

“Nothing, I shake my head and sway side to side with Beth as she starts to fall asleep. “I was just freaking out because Beth’s sick.”

“I know when you’re lying, Quinn. You get this real weird look in your eyes and you’re not very good at it. So why don’t you just tell me what you meant? And don’t say nothing, because it sure felt like you meant something.”

“I just…” I sigh and put my sleeping baby on the couch with a fresh blanket covering her. “I just feel like I haven’t talked to you in a while. It felt like you abandoned me all week to hang out with Kurt and it just… I don’t know, it just started to feel like we aren’t together anymore.”

Rachel grips the sides of the island and puts her head down like she’s frustrated with me and see, this is where she makes me mad. She asks me to be honest and to tell her how I really feel and to tell her what I mean when I say things, but them she gets mad when I tell her. It’s like I can’t win.

“You are WAY overreacting,” she picks her head up and shakes it at me. “There you go with the jealousy again and I can’t _ stand _it. I knew you were gonna get mad if I told you I was hanging out with Kurt all week while you were grounded and that’s the whole reason why I didn’t even want to tell you.”

“Okay then, fine,” I throw my hands up in the air. “Fine. I’ll never tell you how I feel ever again. I will NEVER tell you how something that _ you do _makes me feel. Never again. Not if you’re going to ask me how I feel and then make me feel like I’m crazy for telling you the truth.”

“So you’re mad that I left you alone all week?!”

“I’m not mad, I’m upset! I’m just —“

“So you’re _ upset _that I left you alone all week? Quinn, you were grounded! Like hardcore grounded! What did you want me to do?!”

“Not ignore me! Maybe I was grounded but that doesn’t explain why you ignored me in Glee club! You were stuck so far up Kurt’s ass that you didn’t even realize —“

“You think I liked staying away from you for a week?! You think that was my choice!?”

“Well it sure seemed like it!”

“You’re so full of it, Quinn. You’re so full of it that your eyes are brown,” she turns away from me and shakes her head. “...I stayed away because I love you. I stayed away because ever since you started living with Mercedes, you’ve been GREAT. I’ve seen you smile and I’ve noticed that you’re just all around doing better as a whole and I didn’t want you to mess that up by seeing and talking to me. You were grounded, I didn’t want to mess up your life, so I stayed away. That’s all. It was nothing more than that, it was nothing less. And by staying away for a week, I reconnected with my best friend. My _ best friend _ , who’s been feeling like I abandoned him ever since I got involved with you. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your feelings, Quinn. I love you. I love you _ so _ much. I love you so much that it _ hurts. _But I’m not going to live my life for you.”

_ See, this is what I mean. She asks me to be honest and tell her about my feelings but when I do that, she gets mad and yells at me and tells me why how I feel is wrong. I’m not trying to attack her, I’m just trying to be honest. I just want her to know that I get sad when I don’t see or hear from her. Then she says really mean and hurtful things like she just said and I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what to say back to any of it. I love her too. And I guess maybe I don’t want her to live her life for me. But she could think about my feelings… _

“You don’t love me the way you loved Finn,” I mumble.

“Oh my GOD, are we back on Finn now?!” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “When are you going to get over it?!”

“It’s true! You don’t! And the sooner you can admit that to me, the sooner this argument can be over! The same things you’re standing here yelling at me about are the same things you used to do with him. You didn’t want him to hang out with anybody else, you got sad whenever you saw him talking to me or Santana. When you heard he slept with Santana, you went BALLISTIC and here I am telling you how I feel about you hanging out with Kurt so much and _ I’m _the bad guy! You did the same thing! You acted the same way! You —“

“THAT ISN’T LOVE, QUINN!” She runs her fingers through her hair and grips it, frustration flowing from her fingertips. “That’s not love. It wasn’t love back when I did it and it’s not love when you’re doing it. I don’t know if you think going to therapy is exclusive to you and only you, but I’ve done it too. Okay? I’ve done it too, I’ve done my work and I know that the way I acted — the way _ you are currently _acting — is not love. It’s controlling someone and it’s being manipulative and it’s emotionally abusive and it’s possessive and it’s not love. Not hardly.”

“So I’m emotionally abusing you? I’m manipulating you, I’m emotionally abusing you, I’m controlling you and I’m trying to possess you?”

“Quinn, stop —“

“No, Rachel. That’s what you said. That’s what came out of your mouth.”

“My god, Quinn, I just can’t do this anymore! This back and forth all the time! It’s good and then it’s bad! It’s bad and then it’s good!” She takes one step toward me and I take a step back. “Look, there is nothing in the world that you can do that will make me love you any more than I already do. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. But I can’t continue on in an unhealthy relationship. I can’t. I want what’s best for you and I know that right now, you’re not capable of anything better because you’re still broken, I know this. I know. And I’m trying to love you in spite of all of it. But I —“

“There you go, looking for reasons to break up with me again,” I mumble and look away from her.

“I don’t have to look very far, now do I ?”

_ Ouch. I can literally feel that radiating all throughout my body. That one hurt. That hurt a whole lot and she needs to leave. Now, before I start to cry. _

“You can go,” I clear my throat and look down at the ground, trying to will the tears to stay in my eyes. “Now, before things get anymore heated and I start to say things that I don’t mean.”

“Oh, why don’t you say them, Quinn? Say them. You already told me I don’t love you well enough, already accused me of wanting Finn. Might as well keep going.”

“YOU DON’T TRY!” I stomp my foot at her with tears rolling down my cheeks and now I’m really mad because I told her to leave before she made me cry and now look at me. Stomping and crying like some kid trying to throw a temper tantrum. “I do everything for us! I sacrificed EVERYTHING! I fought my MOTHER because she didn’t want me to be with you — HIT her for saying horrible things about you! And you don’t do anything. It’s not as hard for you as it is for me. You have people — your dads and Shelby — who will accept you. Nobody is going to look at you and tell you what a disgrace you are. You have all the luxury in the world to not take us seriously, and you don’t. You don’t, Rachel. I’m giving everything just to be with you and all I’m asking for is a little more understanding from you. You just… you just look at me as something to hold you over until you can get back with Finn. You don’t care about me. You don’t care about us.”

“WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! I don’t know what else I have to do!” She looks up at the ceiling and tries to take a few deep breaths to calm herself down. “You want something from me… and it’s something I’m not even sure I can give you. I don’t know what else I have to do to prove to you that I am all in this relationship with you! I’m sorry if it’s been hard for you and nothing but heartache but Quinn, I’m trying too. I’m trying here. It’s not enough to kiss you, it’s not enough to tell you I love you, it’s not enough to stick by you when you’re awful to me, it’s not enough to hold your hand, it’s not enough to have SEX with you! Then what is enough?!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I just don’t want you to drop off the face of the earth for a week! I don’t think I’m asking for too much! I know I need constant reassurance and stuff but I really am trying! I’m —“

“You are not mentally ready for this relationship, that’s what you are. You can’t handle someone as admittedly high maintenance as me, and maybe I’m not ready for someone as high maintenance as you. Loving you is EXHAUSTING, Quinn. It’s exhausting.”

I stomp over to the door after she says that and yank it open. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Why? Why, Quinn? Because the truth hurts?”

“Because you’re making me hate you! That’s why!”

“Well I’m not leaving. This is my mom’s house and you can’t throw me out.”

“Rachel, GO! Now!” I yell at her so loud that Beth should probably wake up, but I can’t help it. Fresh tears roll down my cheeks and my jaw trembles. “I’m serious! It’s… it’s over! It’s over! Whatever this is between us? It’s over. I’m done. And I want you to leave.”

“So now it’s you breaking up with me?”

“I don’t want to do this to you anymore,” I shake my head and the tears rattle off my cheeks. “I don’t want you to be exhausted. I want this to be easy for you and I’m… I’m not an easy person. I’m not an easy person and I don’t want to drag you down anymore.”

“Quinn, DON'T be ridiculous. I said it’s exhausting, not that it wasn’t worth it. I’m ready to put in the work to make this work between us because I love you and I know that nothing worth having ever comes easy and if that means —“

“Would you stop!? Stop acting like you’re this big changed person. Stop acting like you’re so much better than me for not having feelings like me. Deep down, you’re still the same as me. You’re still scared and unsure and insecure. Just like me.”

“I feel really bad for you if you don’t believe that people can grow from their flaws and change. I feel really, really bad if you —“

“Santana fingered me at Puck’s party.” _ I feel like the old Quinn Fabray again. Going right for the jugular. And it’s really scary, because when I see the pain wash across Rachel’s face… it kind of feels good. _“Hardcore fingered me. We were making out and one thing led to another and she fingered me and I liked it.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Rachel is about to cry. Her lips are pursed together and her eyes are really low and she keeps looking around like if she moves her eyes fast enough, the tears won’t fall. She stands before me, shamed and humiliated. I did that to her. And there’s a little part of me that is glad I did. I wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me. I wanted her to feel the same thing she made me feel.

“...That’s really low, Quinn,” she whispers and her voice is cracking.

But she’s out of the door before I can see any tears fall.

* * *

I’m so glad that Beth seems to be a heavy sleeper because I really don’t want her to see me crying like this. My chest is all jerky and my head is throbbing but I can’t stop the tears from falling down and splashing onto my shirt. My shirt is soaked and my hair is sticking to my face and my eyes are burning but every time I feel like I don’t have anymore tears left in me, a new round of sobs just rocks my body and I think it’s me who needs to drink some Pedialyte. It’s me who’s going to get dehydrated.

_ Did you see the way she looked at me? She looked at me like I ripped her heart out of her chest and stepped on it. I hurt her. I really, really hurt her. And now I think I lost her forever. _

_ She said loving me is exhausting. She called me mentally and emotionally abusive. She said we have an unhealthy relationship. She said I’m exhausting. I don’t bring her any joy to life. It’s hard for her to love me… _

_ I lost my Rachel. She’s the only thing I cared about. She’s the only reason I kept going. She was the one person I looked forward to. And I lost her. And I hurt her. Why did I do that? _

The door opens very slowly and very quietly, but I still hear it so I have enough time to wipe my face and pull it together before I have to face Shelby. And it’s a good thing that I turned on the Titanic because there’s no way she’s not going to notice I’ve been crying. I’m sure my face and my eyes are both really red and plus my shirt is wet. At least with the movie, I have an excuse as to why I’m crying.

I hear Shelby put the keys down on the counter and she turns the lamp on right next to the TV to bring some light into the apartment.

“Well?” Shelby asks. “How was it?”

“Beth was fussy, but she was fine,” I sniff again and sit up to act like I really wasn’t just throwing a pity party for myself. “She had an accident all over herself and all over me, so I did end up giving her another bath. She started throwing up, too. Then she was running a fever so we gave her some medicine.”

“I heard,” she tiptoes over to where Beth is laying on the couch and nudges the thermometer up underneath her armpit again. “Did you get her to drink anything?”

“No,” I shake my head. “She wouldn’t pick her head up and stuff. She just wanted to lay on me and I didn’t want to force her to drink.”

“Okay.” Shelby pulls the thermometer from her armpit and looks at it. “It’s 100.7. It’s going down a little, but it’s still up. If it doesn’t break in a couple hours, I’ll take her to the hospital just to be safe.”

“Can you text me if you end up taking her?”

“Of course,” Shelby rubs her fingers across Beth’s forehead. “...Are you sure you’re okay, Quinn? Did she wear you down tonight?”

“No, no,” I rub my hands across my face and sniff again. “The Titanic always makes me cry.”

“Yeah, but it’s nowhere close to the sad parts yet,” she says as she sits down on the coffee table in front of me. “What’s really wrong? Are you second guessing watching Beth? I can find someone else if it’s too much for you, you just have to let me know.”

“It’s not that it’s…” I sigh. “Me and Rachel had a really bad fight and I really doubt that we’ll ever speak again.”

“Oh, stop that,” she waves her hand and shakes her head at me. “You and Rachel have a really solid friendship. And every time solid friends fall out, they always find their way back to each other. You and Rachel both have really strong personalities. It’s normal for you to clash from time to time.”

“But…” I sniff one more time. “But I love her.”

“I know you do,” she touches my knee. “I know you do. Which is why your friendship will be okay.”

“No, Shelby,” I bite my lip and look away, avoiding eye contact with her. “I like, really love her. I love her in… in the way that I’m not supposed to love another girl.”

“Oh,” she raises her eyebrows. She leans back, like she’s looking at me in a new light or something, then scratches her head. _ This is so uncomfortable… I shouldn’t have said that… _“Well… um…” She crosses her legs and sits up straight to appear that she’s listening to me and is attentive. “Does… does Rachel feel the same?”

“Sometimes I think she does,” I whisper. “But then other times I feel like I love her way more than she loves me.”

“Listen Quinn,” she puts both her hands on my knees this time. “...sometimes, relationships with women can be way harder than relationships with men. It’s confusing and it’s just something you have to feel your way through. Sometimes explosive arguments need to happen just so you can figure out how the pieces of your relationship fit. You gotta figure out where the other person stands. Girls are emotional and sometimes explosive because we love way harder. We’re way more complex than men. And if you’re not used to it, it’s really just trial and error.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Eh,” she grins. “I’ve just dated a lot of people in my life and I don’t really put a limit on things like gender.” She winks at me and it makes me smile a little.

“Well thanks, Shelby,” I wipe my eyes again for the last time and stand up. “I’d better get going now before my mom — I mean Mrs. Jones — starts worrying about me.”

“Anytime, kid,” she gets up and follows me to the door so she can lock it behind me.

_ Shelby really just gets better and better. The more I talk to her, the more I realize that I actually do like who she is as a person. I think Beth is being raised by a decent human. And it’s starting to feel like maybe me and Shelby are developing a bond, which I think is going to be good for Beth. _

“Hey Shelby?” I call her name and turn around just as I’m about to leave out through the door. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods once.

“...Is Rachel…? I mean, is she… like Beth? Is she the result of what happened….? To you…?”

“No,” she shakes her head gently. “She’s not the product of that situation.” I nod just once and head out the door again, until she speaks once more: “But she was a casualty from it.”

I turn back around and raise an eyebrow, silently asking her what she means.

“What happened to me… it really messed up my perception of love. It really altered the way I looked at the world and the way I looked at love. She wasn’t a product of it, but she was casualty from it. ...Don’t let be the same for you, Quinn. Okay? Don’t let what happened to you screw up your perception of love.”

“Thank you, Shelby.” I nod at her again and I don’t think we’ve quite worked up to hugging before we part just yet, so I leave it at that. I leave it at that and walk up the hallway after she shuts the door behind me.

_ Don’t let being raped mess up your perception of love… _

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 6**

**8:52 p.m.**

**ME: **i’m sorry. i love you, rachel berry. 

  
  



	43. Irresistible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light mature language in this chapter, so reader discretion advised.

* * *

* * *

_ November 7 _

_ She told me that she loved me too, and that’s what I’m deciding to hold onto. _

_ The last session I had with Bailey, she told me to start focusing on the good things instead of dwelling on the bad, so while I could sit here and mope and feel sorry for myself over what happened between me and Rachel yesterday, I’m going to choose not to do that. Instead, I’m going to focus on the fact that she told me she loves me, too. _

_ We haven’t resolved the argument yet, and we didn’t talk in school today either. She sat with Kurt at lunch instead of us and sat beside him at Glee club too. We haven’t talked about anything and haven’t mentioned the fact that we argued, but she did text me back last night and tell me that she loves me too which is great because I don’t think she’d have said that if she didn’t mean it. If she didn’t want to say it, she would have just ignored me like she’s been for the last week and that would’ve been the end of it. _

_ I’m also deciding to believe in what Shelby said. I’m not sure that me and Rachel’s friendship is as solid as she thinks it is, but I’m believing the part where she said relationships with girls are harder than relationships with men. I’m not sure if me and Rachel will ever figure this out and I’m not sure if we will ever reconcile, but she said she loves me and I’m learning how to let that be good enough. _

_ Though today was really crappy in comparison to how good other days have treated me in the past, I managed to get through it with the idea of seeing Beth tonight because for some reason, Beth always makes me feel better. I know it’s a lot of pressure to put on a tiny baby’s shoulders, but I can always count on Beth to make my day feel just a little bit brighter. Even yesterday, I found it hard to fall completely apart while she was laying down beside me. After Rachel left yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to eat a bunch of junk from Wendy’s on the way home and stop on the side of the road to get rid of all of it, but I remembered that Beth seemed to really love me yesterday and that was enough for me to drive straight home without making a fast food stop. _

_ Shelby cancelled on me watching Beth today and I’m beginning to think that I’ll never have her two days in a row. Apparently she took Beth to the hospital today to check on that fever that wouldn’t break and I guess they told her that she has the flu and they gave her some sort of medicine for it. When Shelby texted me all of that, I was a little bit of both angry and sad. I was angry because I felt like maybe that should have been me taking my daughter to the hospital or maybe she should have at least told me that they were going and she didn’t tell me anything until they were already home. But then I got sad because it hit me that Shelby doesn’t have to include me in anything, legally. It’s very very hard and very very confusing when I think of my relationship with Beth because I feel like I’m her mother but then I also don’t. My head is mixed up by it, and when it starts to make me feel tired, I just stop thinking about it and start enjoying the fact that I actually get to see her. _

_ Mr. Schue handed out assignments for regionals today and it turns out that Mercedes has a solo. I’m super excited for her and I know she’s going to kill it, but it really bothered me how I couldn’t ask Rachel how she felt about it. The two of us weren’t speaking in Glee club and if I would have asked her, it might have been awkward. But I really did care about how she was feeling, and I think that’s how I know that I really love her. _

_ I’m not really sure what’s going to happen with me and Rachel and I can’t say for certain that we’ll ever be on good terms again. I mean, I think we will. I have a feeling that we will. But I’m not completely certain. _

_ For now, I’m just going to hold onto the fact that she told me she loves me too. _

Just as I click my pen closed and shut my notebook for the night, Mercedes knocks her two fingers against my door even though it’s open, and I spin around in my desk chair to see what it is that she wants. I’m careful to cover my journal with my elbow too, just in case she gets a little nosy and wants to sneak a peek at it. As it is right now, closed and stuff, all she would see is a bright red cover with Rachel’s name doodled all over it in various fonts and styles. It looks like a regular notebook but my most private thoughts lie between the pages of it and yeah, if I was ever going to let somebody read my journal it would be Mercedes or Bailey, but that doesn’t mean I want them to read it.

“Can I borrow your math expertise real quick?” She stands in the archway and waits for my permission to enter.

“Yeah, come on,” I shove my notebook back into my backpack and move over to my bed so we can both look at her book together. “What’s up?”

“It’s this last problem that I just don’t get. Williamson keeps saying that this is basic trig but there ain’t nothing basic about this shit. I’m so confused.” She sits down beside me, legs crossed, and puts her book on her kneecap so I can see. “I keep getting negative five, but then I check my answer in the back of the book and it’s wrong.”

“Lemme see,” I pick the book up and look at her notebook to see if I can tell what she’s missing. “Well you have these two angles wrong. When you were figuring out the legs and hypotenuse, you did something wrong because the angles are all supposed to add up to 180 and you got 210 for the sum of your angles. So that’s probably throwing everything off. If that angle is 100, the other one can’t be 90 because that’s over 180. So that one is 100, then that one is 50 and the last one is 30.”

“Okay, I get it,” she erases her work and scribbles the answers I just told her. “So then I’m supposed to find the tangent, right?”

“Well no, you have to find the sine first. At least that’s how I always do it.”

“But why that first if she’s asking for the tangent?”

“Because you can’t get the tangent without finding the other ones first. The tangent’s the most complicated one.”

“I’m so confused.”

“No, ‘Cedes, see?” I point to the formula paper that Williamson handed out. I took trig last year as part of my honors classes so I’m a little rusty but I still know what I’m doing, and I know that she’s overthinking this. “The tangent is the hardest one to get. She’s asking you to find the tangent of this triangle up here. And see? In the formula for the tangent, you need the sine, the cosine, and the cotangent. You have to find those before you can put it into your calculator. See?”

“So I find the stuff that I put into the calculator… like the answers and stuff. I find the answers and then type them in?”

“Yes. You’re just overthinking it. All you’re doing is putting numbers into a formula and putting it all into your calculator.”

“What would I do without you, Quinn?” She erases all her work and starts hitting down different answers once she has an epiphany.

“Probably fail trigonometry,” I mumble and watch over her shoulder to make sure she’s not making any mistakes as she’s going along.

_ I missed this. _The first time I lived here, this was all me and Mercedes did. I was too tired and pregnant and moody to really do anything besides lie in bed and do my homework when I came home from school and Mercedes wasn’t as popular then as she is now. So we would just pile up in her room every night and do our homework together and talk about how our days went in school, because we were in opposite classes just like this year. I missed doing homework with her. I missed having these moments to just hang out with my best friend.

“You nervous about your solo at regionals?” I ask her, leaning back against my pillows once she closes her notebook and is officially done with her homework.

“A little,” she puts her books on my nightstand and leans against the pillows with me and I know we’re about to have one of our famous best friend sessions. I’m glad, too. I’ve really been needing one since me and Rachel fought. “It’s a great song and I think my voice will sound pretty good on it but I’m mostly just nervous that Rachel is going to be mad at me for having the solo. She seemed to take it okay when Mr. Schue announced it, but —“

“Mercedes, you’re awesome. You’re just as talented and just as big of powerhouse as Rachel is. She had the solos for sectionals, I’m sure she can share one for regionals.” I put my hand underneath hers and she squeezes it. “And Mr. Schue wouldn’t have given you one if he didn’t think you could do it.”

“I know all that, but…” she sighs, then looks over and meets my eyes. “You know how Rachel gets when she’s not the center of attention. I know she’s your girl and all, but she’s pretty much —“

“I know what you mean. You don’t have to say it.” _ We may not be on speaking terms right now, but I don’t want to sit here and listen to Mercedes say anything bad about her. _“She’s probably pissed about it and she will be pissed about it from now until regionals, but it doesn’t change the fact that the solo is yours.”

Still hand in hand, the both of us look up at the ceiling and just relax in the quiet. Silence is still never awkward between us and we know how to just enjoy each other’s company. Sometimes I wonder what Mercedes is thinking, then other times I think I already know. She can look at me a certain way in Glee club and I know that she’s thinking how much Santana is getting on her nerves. She can smile at me a certain way and I know that it means that she saw Sugar almost fall down the steps the same way I did. It's the little things like that, things that make me realize me and Mercedes are on the same wavelength and one soul sharing two bodies. But other times — times like this — I’m completely clueless as to what’s going on in her mind.

“...You and Rachel okay?” She finally asks and now that she says it, I guess I did sort of see that coming. I knew that it was burning her up to not know, I knew that she was desperately waiting to ask. “You guys just haven’t really been talking lately and she’s been hanging out with Kurt again and —“

“We had a fight.” _ God, that felt good to say out loud again. I thought I released all that tension and pent up energy when I told Shelby about it yesterday but telling Mercedes was like letting go of a breath I didn’t know that I was holding in. _“Yesterday at Shelby’s. We had a huge fight, actually.”

“About what?”

“Everything, basically. You know she ignored me that whole week I was grounded. Which, fine, I get it. I was grounded, we couldn’t talk anyway. But she kept ignoring me in school and Glee club when we _ could _talk and I felt… abandoned? I guess? I dunno. But I told her about it and how I was feeling and how I didn’t think that we were together anymore because she was ignoring the hell out of my text messages and stuff and she just… blew up. She called me crazy and jealous and told me that I worry too much and that my problems exhaust her and that she is tired of dealing with me and —“

“Wait, back up, back up,” Mercedes sits up. “She called you exhausting? And said that she’s tired of dealing with you?”

“In a nutshell, yeah. And she said I’m abusive — emotionally and mentally and stuff — and honestly it all just hurt. It hurt like hell. I felt like she was just sick of me and just tolerating me or something. Like Mercedes, the things she said were honestly just SO mean. I mean, I said some mean things too and I get it, sometimes I _ am _wrong. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. I did get pissed off at her for spending all her time with Kurt even though I was grounded but like… I’m a jealous person. Okay? That’s just who I am and I’m trying to change it, I’m trying to fix it, I’m working on it, but she just keeps picking it out. She dwells on it and dwells on it and every time we argue it’s because she’s telling me how much she hates that characteristic about me when I can’t help it. It’s just who I am. So it’s like she doesn’t like who I am as a person and I don’t know what to say about that. Especially when she knows I’m literally going to therapy two days a week, on medication, just got out of a mental hospital, trying to fix it. I just don’t understand why she has to constantly say it. I already know it’s something about me that she hates. She doesn’t have to keep saying it.”

“I don’t understand why she gets so mad at you for basically wanting all her time when she’s the same way.” She lies down on the pillows again. “I mean, I get it. It is super annoying when someone makes you feel guilty for hanging out with your friends. Shane used to do that to me and it drove me to insanity, so I get where she’s coming from, but it seems a little hypocritical because she used to trip big time when Finn even looked at someone else.”

“Mercedes, thank you! I said the same thing! And she keeps saying that she’s changed and stuff she realizes that controlling people and manipulating people and being jealous isn’t love, which is great! It’s great! If she changed and she has saw the error in her ways, great! I’m glad! But don’t act like you don’t understand where I’m coming from. Don’t act like you haven’t been in my shoes. How would you feel if Sam ignored your for an entire week — I mean STRAIGHT UP IGNORED YOU — and hung out with Rory and Finn and Puck and stuff? And then when you’re like ‘hey honey I’m sad that you ignored me’ he BLOWS UP?”

Mercedes starts to laugh, which makes me laugh too and I’m glad that I can find a little bit of humor in the situation when in reality, everything still hurts.

“I’d be pretty pissed,” she admits, still laughing.

“Right? And she ASKED ME. She asked me how I felt! She asked me to share my feelings with her! So I did and she ripped me a new butthole and insulted my entire character. Like geez… and I’m the one who ended up apologizing! She didn’t even apologize!”

“Getting an apology out of Rachel Berry and getting her to see that she is wrong is a feat that nobody has ever and will ever accomplish, so lower your expectations on that.”

“Yeah, I think I should.”

“You know what I think?” She sits up again and faces me so that I don’t have to pick my head up and see her. I’m looking her in her eyes but I can also see up her nose and while it’s not the most attractive angle in the world, I can’t help but notice that she has really pretty skin. Seriously. There’s not a blemish, a pimple or a blackhead in sight. “I think you and Rachel are just too much alike to get along all the time.”

“Oh no,” I shake my head and sit up straight so she can tell how serious I am. “I am _ nothing _like Rachel. I am not that stubborn, my ego is not that big, I do not act holier than thou, I —“

“Quinn, you made a list calling everybody in Glee club ugly except for yourself. And then you went on to call yourself a hoe when you just barely lost your virginity.”

“Listen, that was a really rough time in my life and —“

“You used to insist that you — a skinny little blonde thing with the perfect body — were a minority because you were _ pregnant. _”

“In my defense, I was raised by a family full of bigots and I didn’t know the difference.”

“You were a _ ruthless _ bitch, Quinn. _ Ruthless. _You threatened Coach Sylvester just for a page in the yearbook! You threatened a teacher!”

“In my defense, it was for the good of the club!”

“You called drew nude pictures of Rachel on the bathroom wall…”

“In my defense, I was a closeted lesbian with a crush.”

“...Then proceeded to call her everything from Ru Paul to a troll that lives under the bridge.”

“In my defense…. I….” I swallow a laugh and push my hair back as I put my head down and mumble, “I actually don’t have a defense for that. That was just plain mean.”

The two of us bust out into serious side-splitting laughter and it’s not long before I feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes and I can’t remember the last time I cried because I was laughing. I actually sort of forgot that I could cry from anything other than sadness and misery and frustration. _ Man, I never thought I’d see the day where I could look back on the person I used to be and laugh at her… I sure do feel guilty for all the people I’ve hurt and especially Rachel. But I can safely say that I’m not that person anymore… and it feels really good to know that she’s gone. Maybe I am a new Quinn Fabray after all. _

“But seriously girl,” Mercedes’ laughter eases up as she puts her hand on my leg. “Even though I kind of don’t recognize you as the same girl you were back then, I think you and Rachel are more alike than you think. Rachel can be every bit as sneaky and conniving and underhanded as you can be. And it sounds like your fight came from a place a love and two personalities just clashing.”

“...We had sex.” _ Oh god, that felt good too. It feels so good to just let it all out. I’ve been walking around with this weight in my chest, thinking that I’d never work up enough nerve to tell her about it and now it’s out and I feel so, so, so good. _

“You… you what?” She looks at me like she’s looking at someone who just admitted that they robbed a bank. There’s shock and worry and eagerness and anticipation all in her face. It’s all those emotions mixed up and plastered on. “You and Rachel?! WHEN?!”

“Sectionals.”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh come on, Mercedes. You already knew. I know you did. The two of us were in a bedroom alone together, what did you think we were gonna do?!”

“I… I don’t know! Not that! What?! You and Rachel?! You did the nasty nasty? With Rachel?! Quinn, wait. Swear. Say swear. Say swear you’re not lying. Swear. Swear on Beth. You’re lying. I know you are.”

“I swear on my daughter that I am not lying. We did. We had sex the night before we went to chocolate world. She couldn’t sleep so I got in the bed with her thinking that we were just going to hold hands until she fell asleep but one thing led to another and then we just did it,” I shrug. “It just happened.”

“Okay, then what? You don’t get to just tell me you had sex with Rachel and then not give me any details.”

“It… it was private! It was super private and I don’t really want to disrespect Rachel like that, like she probably doesn’t want anyone to know,” I look down and pull at a loose strand of thread on my quilt. I can literally feel my cheeks flushing. “It was something between us.”

“Oh screw that, you’re spilling!” She springs up off my bed and closes my door. “Now, before I string you up and beat it outta you. I can guarantee Rachel told Kurt. She tells him everything. And it’s not like I’m gonna tell her you told me. Come on, Quinn. Spill. You gotta. I’m your best friend. I need details. Dirty ones. Raunchy ones.”

“It wasn’t like that! There aren’t any dirty details to give.” Smiling, I look down and hide my face. _ It’s so weird to talk about Rachel like this… I just want to respect her. God. But it is Mercedes… it’s Mercedes. And I really have been dying to give someone details and talk about it. Oh god… here goes nothing… _“...I was super nervous about it. I mean, I didn’t think I was when it was happening but then it was really happening and I was so nervous.”

“Go on.”

“She was _ so _ understanding. I really didn’t know what I was doing. And Mercedes, she smelled _ so good. _I mean, the only thing I really have to compare it to was when I was with Puck and I just remember that he smelled like sweat and onions. So like… when I was… you know… down there, I just… I don’t know, she just smelled so good. And she was so soft. All I kept doing was rubbing her legs because she was so freaking soft. And I didn’t know what I was doing but she was so super nice about it. Like, I guess I… I guess I was going too fast because… because I was just thinking about what would feel good for me, you know?”

“You’re not making any sense. Just use your words, I don’t care how bad it sounds.” She kicks her feet up like she’s settling in for a bedtime story.

“Okay, so. I didn’t know what I was doing, so I was just thinking that I have one, too. You know? I have a vagina too and I know what feels good for me so maybe it would be the same for her. But I guess I was going too fast. When I was… like… rubbing her… you know...” _ God this is so horrible. I can’t do this. _

“Her clit,” Mercedes says so bluntly and matter of factly that it feels wrong to even listen to it.

“Ahh!” I clamp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes. _ She didn’t have to say it! She knew what I meant! That is such a dirty word! _

I slowly take my hands away from my ears and take a deep breath. I’m blushing so hard and smiling through this whole thing and I just… I’m not a prude, okay? I know things. I know what things are called and how to say them and use them in a sentence and stuff but it feels so wrong to say it about Rachel! I respect her and I love her and it was private and I want to tell Mercedes these things, it’s good that she’s pushing me to talk about it and I’m actually liking telling her about it but that word… why did she have to use that word?! Aaah!

“Yeah, that. So I guess I was going too fast or maybe my thumb wasn’t wet enough or something I don’t know, but I guess it wasn’t good, so then instead of making a big deal out of it and like pushing me away or something, she was so nice. She just made my thumb go the way she wanted it to go, like in a circle instead of up and down, and then I noticed that when she got… like… wetter, I guess?”

“Yeah, wetter,” she shrugs.

“It was easier then. It wasn’t so dry. Like don’t get me wrong, she was already. Because we were kissing and I know that her neck really turns her on so I was kissing her there and already touching her through her underwear so she was already. But it was easier when it got more intense because my thumb wasn’t so dry.”

“So was that it? Is that all you did? You didn’t, like, go down on her or anything?”

“No, I did,” I find that it’s easier to talk about it if I’m not looking at her directly in the eyes so I keep looking at my quilt and pulling that thread. “That was easier, actually. It felt like something activated in me and I just knew what to do when it came to that. I wasn’t the greatest at the whole… _ fingering _, but I knew what I was doing when it came to that. I just did what I was doing with my fingers, but with my tongue. And it was like…” I sigh. “Mercedes, it was magical.”

“Magical? I have never once had sex that was magical, I’m gonna need you to explain that one.”

“It just was. I was still nervous when I was doing it. I was just worried that I wasn’t making her feel good and stuff and worried that I was doing bad. So I kept looking up at her. I didn’t like, take my mouth away or anything, I just looked up with my eyes. And her eyes were closed and her hands were on her chest and like she didn’t know what to grab onto and she looked… I just remember thinking that she looked beautiful,” I shake my head, smiling at the memory. “And it made me want to go crazy or something. It was like suddenly I knew exactly what to do to make her react. I knew where to put my tongue and where to lick and when I should suck. And then I started, like, curling them? My fingers, I mean. And then it all just exploded. It felt like magic, honestly it did. To look at her and know that I did that. It was magic. And I knew that I loved her because I just… didn’t care? I didn’t care if she did it to me next or not, all I cared about was that she felt good. I knew she did because her face was in the pillow because she was being super loud. I’m honestly not sure how Santana and Brittany didn’t hear.”

“They were probably busy doing their own thing,” she mumbles. “So it didn’t go both ways? It was just you doing it to her?”

“I freaked out when she did it to me at first.”

“Freaked out?”

“Yeah,” I pull my knees up into my chest because this is about to be even harder to talk about than that was, but it has to be talked about. The only way I’ll get better is if I talk about it and stop keeping it in. “She was going to do it first. She initiated the whole thing, she pushed me down and got on top of me and then she started to go down on me and I wanted it. I wanted her to do it. But then she started actually doing it and I just… freaked out. It felt like Puck was touching me and it felt like she was ripping my underwear like he did and I just got scared. I got so scared that I just like, pulled her up. And then I went first instead of her. She did do it, though. Eventually I got out of my head enough for her to do it and she was so much better than me. I mean she immediately just dug right in. And I thought it would bother me if she kissed me right after she did that, but it didn’t. I didn’t really care.”

“Wow,” she whispers. “...It sounds like it was super, super passionate.”

“It was. It was more like lovemaking and less like sex. I mean in hindsight, I wish I had done more. I was so nervous that I didn’t do much, but now I wish I hadn’t been so nice and proper about it. I wish I had gone to town on her because I see her now and I look at her and I’m like… ‘damn, I’d bang the shit out of you.’ But I didn’t when I had the chance.”

Suddenly, like he’s right on cue or something, Mr. Jones starts knocking on the door and makes me and Mercedes jump since it was otherwise quiet in the room.

“Mercedes? Quinn?” his voice booms through the door.

“Yeah, dad?” Mercedes turns to face the door, still clutching her chest from how hard she jumped.

“Come on down and get some dinner.”

Me and Mercedes hop down off the bed together, both still recovering from being scared like that. I’m just about to grab the door handle to open it when she grabs my hand. She grabs my hand and makes me look back at her and as soon as I do, she gives me a very light but protective hug. It lasts all of two seconds before she pulls away and says:

“You okay, Quinn?

“Hmm?” I wrinkle my brow, super confused. “I’m fine, why?”

“I mean with the whole… freaking out during sex thing. I know it happened a while ago back at sectionals and you’re probs to over it now, but are you? Okay?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

* * *

“You study for that English test you got tomorrow, ‘Cedes?” Mrs. Jones asks her as she scoops helpings of macaroni and cheese onto both our plates. It’s not the frozen Stouffer’s macaroni that you pop in the microwave like I’m used to. It’s real and it’s homemade with crispy edges and bubbly cheese on top. It looks absolutely delicious and I want to eat the entire pan myself.

“Yeah, I looked over the study guide,” Mercedes hands me a can of Canada Dry and sits down with her can of Pepsi. “I think I’m ready for it.”

“What about you?” She asks me next, doling out scoops of green beans next. “You got that chemistry test tomorrow, how you studying?”

_ I didn’t even know she knew I have a chemistry test tomorrow. My mom never kept up on things like that… _

“My teacher gave us a practice test to do for homework tonight and it was a breeze.” I crack open my can of soda and move my elbows so she can put a piece of fish on my plate.

“You want one piece of fish or two?”

“One’s fine to start with.”

“What about you, ‘Cedes? One or two?”

“One’s good,” Mercedes says as she stabs some macaroni with her fork.

“Quintessential, if there’s ever anything you don’t like about dinner, just tell us.” Mr. Jones scoots his chair in and starts to eat too. “You don’t gotta eat nothing you don’t like. If you don’t like Tilapia, you don’t gotta eat it. If you don’t like baked macaroni, you don’t gotta eat it. If you don’t like green beans, you don’t gotta eat it. Just let us know what you like and don’t like, kay?”

“Why don’t you start tellin’ us what you likes to eat and don’t likes to eat?” Mrs. Jones chimes in.

“This is fine,” I start with the macaroni too. “I’m really not that picky. I like everything you make.”

“Well imma cut up some of them potatoes and make some home fries for breakfast in the morning. You like your eggs scrambled or flat? You like waffles or pancakes?” She asks.

“Either or,” I shrug.

“Child, if you don’t just tell us what you like and don’t like!” Mr. Jones starts laughing and shaking his head at me. “I’m starting to think you and ‘Cedes really are sisters with all this damn indecisiveness between you.”

“He’s right,” Mrs. Jones blows on a piece of her fish. “But we done had sixteen years with ‘Cedes to figure out what she like and what she don’t like. We tryna learn about you now. What do you eat?”

“She doesn’t like turkey,” Mercedes speaks up, going for a second helping of macaroni and cheese. “She likes the kind you get at the deli but not the kind at thanksgiving. She thinks it’s too dry. And it’s the opposite with ham. She likes the kind you get for Christmas dinner but not the kind you get from the deli.”

“Okay, that’s a start,” Mr. Jones chews. “Chicken? Steak? Seafood? Pork chops?”

“I don’t like oysters and I don’t like caviar but everything else is fine,” I go for more macaroni and cheese too. “And I don’t like cooked carrots.”

“Well it’s a good thing you ain’t gotta worry about no caviar over here,” Mr. Jones starts laughing again. “Ain’t no caviar in the budget over here.”

“You like carrots with your roast, baby?” Mrs. Jones asks me. “You know, with the pot roast? The way I make my roast, I cut em all up along with some potatoes and bake it with the carrots and potatoes around it.”

“I’ve never had it that way,” I admit. “My mom wasn’t a very good cook. It was mostly the same few things over and over and sometimes they didn’t taste that great. She makes really good Italian sometimes. Like her homemade red sauce is pretty okay, but that’s about it. Everything came out of a box or the freezer.”

“We gonna fatten you up girl,” Mr. Jones nudges me with his foot underneath the table. _ Please don’t fatten me up. I’ll throw up every day from now until the day I die. It’s bad enough everything your wife makes is delicious. Don’t say you’re gonna fatten me up. _“Don’t you worry.”

“Anyway,” Mrs. Jones squirts more ketchup onto her plate. “How’s that babysittin’ going? That baby getting to know you? That woman being nice to you?”

“Yeah,” I nod my head. “Shelby’s great. She’s really sweet and she works with me a lot on doing things with Beth. She was really sick yesterday that’s why she cancelled today, but she was so cute. Maybe Shelby will let me bring her over sometime to see you. I keep meaning to take pictures, but I —“

“Don’t you worry bout no pictures, baby. You enjoy your little girl when you got her. We’ll see her someday, don't worry bout it.”

“She _ is _really cute though,” Mercedes says. “She looks exactly like Quinn.”

“I bet she does.” Mrs. Jones gives herself and her husband both more green beans. “What about your mama? You talk to your mama lately?”

“No actually,” I put my fork down and stop eating because she kinda caught me off guard. It’s been a while since I really sat down and thought about Mom. To be honest, I kind of forgot that she existed a little bit… “She hasn’t reached out or said anything to me.” I pick my fork back up and bully a green bean across my plate. “But I was thinking about texting her sometime this weekend and seeing how things are going for her,” I lie.

“Quincy, look,” Mr. Jones leans a little closer to me like he really wants me to listen to what he’s about to tell me. “That ain’t your job. If you wanna reach out to your mom then it’s totally up to you. You know me and ‘Trice will support you either way. But it ain’t your job to reach out to her. She’s the adult. You’re the child in this situation and it’s not your responsibility to reach out and mend the relationship.”

“Yeah dad, but —“ I close my mouth just as quickly as I opened it because I _ really _ didn’t mean to slip up like that. _ I called him dad… that’s not my place. I just WAY overstepped. I’d better clean it up before they can say anything about me crossing a line. _“I just mean that — I mean, what I’m trying to say is that — my mom… sometimes she just doesn’t know what to say.”

They both just look at me for a moment, stunned to silence. I’m not sure if maybe they’re being so quiet because of how I just slipped up and called Mr. Jones “dad”, or if they’re being quiet because they don’t know what to say themselves. Either way, I managed to turn a nice dinner into a big awkward encounter and now I don’t have much of an appetite anymore. I keep pushing the green bean around my plate, hoping that one of them will notice and excuse me from the table.

No such luck, though.

“So,” Mrs. Jones starts before she takes a sip of her drink. “You get them picture forms back from school yet?”

“Oh crap, yeah,” Mercedes pushes her chair out from the table and hurries to go get hers, and I just sit here at the table, still wishing I had never said what I said.

“Why you still sitting here?” She asks me. “You think you special? Go get that picture form, I said. I’m tryna order them pictures tonight so I can give you the money tomorrow.”

“Oh, I didn’t…” I scoot out from the table too. “I didn’t know you, I’m… I’m sorry, I’ll be right back.”

I head for the steps just like Mercedes, because I left the order forms upstairs in my bookbag and I honestly forgot about them because Mom never orders pictures from the school. I think the only time she ordered school pictures was my freshman year when I got Cheerios pictures taken and even then, she ordered one at best. She and dad have one photographer that we go to and he’s the one who has done all the pictures we have in the house. Dad always thought the school pictures were cheap and not up to the quality he wanted.

I jog back down the steps with my order form and hand it to Mrs. Jones before I sit back down.

“Your hair look good, ‘Cedes,” she tilts her head to the side as she examines Mercedes’ picture. “I told you it was gonna look better if I bumped the ends of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s the last time I let you straighten my hair.” Mercedes rolls her eyes as her mom passes it to her dad and I get a little glimpse of them too. She does look really pretty. Her hair is down and it’s straight with little curls at the end and she’s wearing her favorite lime green shirt with the zebra print vest over it and her makeup looks really pretty and her teeth are so straight and white.

“Aww, look at you!” Mrs. Jones exclaims as she examines mine next. She has the widest smile on her face and for some reason, I’m a little uncomfortable with her looking at my picture. “Just as pretty as you wanna be, look at you. Why you ain’t show no teeth?”

“I dunno,” I’m smiling and blushing again for the billionth time tonight. “I look so horrible.”

“Oh stop it, you do not!”

She passes the picture to Mr. Jones and starts jotting down her order for Mercedes’. I really hate my school picture. I remember that day vividly. It was the third week of school and I was still adjusting to seeing Rachel in the hallways and I totally forgot that it was picture day. I had on one of my least favorite dresses, the white one with the dark purple cubes all over it and I had a dark purple cardigan on to go over it. And then my hair had one of my trademark braids in the front and the rest was down and curled and I just look gross, okay? I definitely could have touched up my makeup. My forehead is so shiny.

“Now I got pictures of both my girls,” Mrs. Jones opens her purse to put the money for them in both our envelopes.

And I don’t know what it is about her saying that, but something inside of me just… feels different. It’s like as soon as she says that, I feel everything inside of me just stop. I feel like I can breathe again. I feel like I don’t have to keep planning my next move. I feel like I can release the tension in my shoulders and relax. I feel like maybe… maybe I don’t have to run anymore. _ She wants to hang me up on her wall. She loves me and wants to hang me up on her wall. They both do. This is where I’m meant to be. _

I don’t have to run anymore, I don’t have to fight anymore, I don’t have to be tired anymore, I don’t have to be everything at one time. These people know me and they love me and I can stay. I can honestly, honestly stay here. I can settle down right here in this kitchen with three people who love me enough to have me hanging on their wall…

“So, I’d like to tell everyone something,” I clear my throat and speak up. _ I think it’s time for them to know. I think it’s time for them to have every piece of my complicated puzzle. And if they love me the way I think they do… I think that telling them will be okay. _“Mostly just you, Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

The two of them put their forks down and look at me and again, I’d feel a lot better if I wasn’t looking them in the eye, but I don’t want them to think that I’m lying or that what I’m saying isn’t to be taken seriously. I need them to trust me and believe in everything that I say. So as uncomfortable as it is, I keep my head up and look right into their eyes. It’s another one of those moments where me and Mercedes are on the same wavelength. She knows exactly what I’m about to do, and she holds my hand. Plain as day, right on top of the table. I think her doing that lets her parents know that this is something serious, but her holding my hand is more than that to me. Her holding my hand gives me strength.

“So last June… after I had my baby, I um… I got really… like… depressed? I wasn’t eating and I wasn’t sleeping and I was just really sad all the time and stuff and so finally, I just… I took too many sleeping pills, and that’s why I’m still going to therapy and stuff.” Mrs. Jones’ eyes never leave me for one second, even when they fill up with tears. Mr. Jones keeps his fist clenched over his mouth. He doesn’t look at me but I understand it. I don’t think I’d be able to look at me if I was telling myself this stuff, either. “And the doctor I saw last week, she um… she put me on medicine. And one of the pills was for PTSD and…” 

My throat closes up and my voice cracks, but I’m not going to cry. I am NOT going to cry. Not over this. Not anymore. I’m done crying over it. I’m done letting it define me and make me upset. I’m putting it behind me. Starting today. Mercedes knows what I’m about to say next, so she squeezes my hand even harder. _ I can do this. I can tell them. No more running from it. Time to face it. _

“...And the reason I have PTSD is because the father of my baby…” I swallow a lump in my throat. My eyes want to cry so bad but I’m not letting them. I’m stronger than this. I’m done letting this make me so upset. No more tears will be shed over this. No more. “...well he raped me. He raped me and I’m still figuring out how to deal with that.”

Finally, Mrs. Jones’ eyes fall and she stops looking at me and the second she does, I see tears drip down onto the table. Still, neither one of them say anything to me. And Bailey said that’s normal. She said sometimes people just don’t know what to say when they hear something like that and it’s normal. It doesn’t mean that they don’t care and it doesn’t mean that they don’t believe you, it just means that they don’t know what to say when they hear that such a horrible thing happened so such a beautiful girl.

And you know what? It was horrible. What happened to me was horrible. It was horrible the way Puck purposely got me drunk. It was horrible the way he kept trying even when I told him over and over again that I really didn’t want to. It was horrible when he put himself inside of me, knowing that I wasn’t 100% on board with it. It was horrible the way he ignored my tears while I was crying. And it was horrible when he held my hands up over my head and pinned me down. It was a terrible thing that happened to me; a disgusting, terrible thing.

But it happened. It happened and I can’t change it. All I can change is the way I go forward and the way I let it affect me. What happened to me doesn’t define who I am as a person and one little tragedy doesn’t have to decide the destination for my life. It doesn’t have to color the way I look at things and it doesn’t have to change my perception of love. I’m not a victim of rape. It’s not something that happened to me and killed me and claimed me as something that it changed forever. I’m not someone who is going to crumble because of it. I’m not a victim. I’m a survivor and that’s the end of it. What happened to me doesn’t make me less worthy of love. What happened to me doesn’t make me dirty or ruined. What happened to me might stick with me for the rest of my life, but I got my strength from it and I won’t let it knock me down. Not anymore. I got my strength from it, I got my beautiful baby girl from it and that’s all I’m willing to think about from here on out.

I forgive Puck. I forgive him for what he did to me, not because I’m giving him a pass but because I’m tired of hating him and being angry all the time and the only way to move past it is to forgive him. Bailey once told me that hating someone is like drinking poison and expecting them to die and I don’t think I want to drink poison anymore. I want to live. I’m forgiving Puck because I deserve peace and I deserve to live.

“So —“ Mrs. Jones finally starts to speak through her tears, but then someone starts knocking on the front door and I’m kind of glad that they did because I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay strong with Mrs. Jones crying. It’s hard to see a pillar of strength crying like that.

“I’ll go get it,” Mercedes finally lets go of my hand and gets up.

“I’ll help you,” I get up as well, for no reason other than just needing to get away from the table. That was a very tough thing for me to do, but I do feel lighter for doing it. I’m no longer carrying around this big, heavy secret that I’m keeping from the Joneses.

Mercedes turns on the porch light before unlocking and opening the door, and I move barking Whitney and tail-wagging Bobby away from the door so they don’t scare whoever it is that’s on the porch. Whitney Houston Jones and Bobby Brown Jones are two Blue Nose Pitbulls and they’re both pretty big, so they can be really intimidating if you’re not used to them. Really, they’re both very sweet dogs. They wouldn’t hurt a fly, honest. But if you’re not used to having dogs around, they can be a little bit scary.

As soon as Mercedes opens the door and we find out who it is, my heart stops beating. I have to fight the urge to smile because as far as I know, we’re still not speaking and I don’t want to be the first one to crack, but I can’t help it. My god, I missed her. I missed her so much.

“Hey Rach,” Mercedes steps aside and lets her into the house.

_ I missed you! I missed you so much and you’re here! You’re here and you look so beautiful! That color against your skin and the way your hair is all down your back… I missed you so much, beautiful. I’m not strong enough to hate you anymore. I missed you so much. Way too much to be mad anymore. _

“Hey,” her voice is very low and I can instantly tell that she’s upset. I hope nothing happened. She’s usually so chipper and talking so loud, but she’s so quiet that I almost didn’t hear her speak. I hope nobody did anything to her.

She takes her shoes off at the door and her jacket as well and I can’t stop looking at her. The way her bright red lace dress just hugs her body and the color against her caramel colored skin with her dark brown hair… I’m melting. I’m literally putty. I’m putty in her hands and even though she doesn’t look at me as she follows Mercedes to the kitchen, I’m practically drooling as I follow the both of them.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Jones,” she waves to greet both of them. Then finally, she turns to me. And I have to practically pick my jaw up off the door when she does. _ So beautiful… _“I actually came to see Quinn,” she says. “Can we go somewhere to talk? Privately?”

* * *

She sits with her legs crossed up towards the top of my bed, just inches away from my pillows. I still near the bottom, inches away from the footboard. She has her legs crossed and her hands folded in her lap, I have my legs crossed and my hands folded in my lap.

It’s taking everything in me not to dive across the bed and kiss her. I want to hold her face in my arms, steady as my tongue explores the mouth that it’s been missing for the past week. I want to make her lie down on my pillows and tremble with anticipation as I peel every inch of that red lace dress off her skin. It’s taking everything in me not to part her legs and show her just how much I was holding back the first and last time we had each other. God, I want to hear her moaning my name. I want to hear her moaning my name and feel her pulling my hair as she tells me how much she missed me too.

But we just sit in silence instead of having super hot “I missed you” sex.

I keep my head down even when I see her move from the corner of my eye. She picks up her phone, I think. She picks up her phone and her thumbs fly across the screen and it’s in that moment I realize that we still have a lot to work on if we’re going to make this work, because my instant thought is that she’s probably texting Kurt or Finn and I’m a little annoyed. _ Just let me fuck you and then you can go home. I don’t think I’m ready to stop being mad yet, but I do want to have sex with you, so. _

_ I must be getting ready to come on my period. There’s no way my hormones are this crazy. _

She puts her phone back down and folds her hands in her lap again and no sooner than she does that does my phone light up and vibrate next to me.

**New iMessage**

**Thursday, November 7**

**7:49 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **As you know, it’s really hard for me to admit when I’m wrong and after speaking with my therapist extensively for two and a half hours today, I have come to the conclusion that I do, indeed, owe you an apology. Sorry.

**7:50 p.m.**

**ME: **if that’s the best apology you’ve got, then wow.

**ME: **takes a therapist to tell you that you said some really messed up shit to me. nice.

**RACHEL: **Come on.

**RACHEL: **Stop it.

**RACHEL: **I’m saying sorry.

**ME: **yeah but you can’t even tell me what you’re saying sorry for.

**RACHEL: **Does it really matter?

**ME: **wow, rachel. wow. get out of my room.

  
  


More silence falls between us and I’m honestly shaking. If she didn’t look so hot in that dress and I’d I didn’t want to jump her bones as bad as I do, I’d grab her by her hair and drag her out of here myself.

**7:57 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **I’m sorry for everything I said. Alright?

**ME: **personally, i’m sorry that i made you feel g

Before I even finish that stupid sentence that I was about to send, I lock my phone and throw it down on the bed and turn to her because this is it. I’m tired of this back and forth through text messages. We’re not going to get anything solved unless we _ talk. _We’re not hiding behind phones. So I take her phone and toss it right where mine is at.

“No,” I turn so I’m facing her completely. “It’s not alright. I need to know that you know exactly what you did to hurt me. I need you to know that you don’t get to say a bunch of hurtful things to me and then patch a band-aid on it by giving a generic apology — an apology you’re only giving me because your therapist told you to.”

She hangs her head and says nothing, which really sets me off. _ How can she be so stubborn?! How can she be so pigheaded?! How is her ego so big that she can’t even apologize to me the right, meaningful way?! _

“Look, I know I have things I need to work on,” I start apologizing first since it seems like nothing is going to come out of her mouth. “I am everything you said I am. I’m selfish, I’m jealous and sometimes a little controlling. These are all things that I have to work on and I thank you for putting up with me. I really do. I thank you. Because I know it’s not easy and I know it’s exhausting and everything you said it was. I _ KNOW _I’m a shit person, Rachel. I know. But I am TRYING. I really am trying my best and all I’m hearing out of you is that you don’t like me. You don’t like who I am as a person, you don’t like who I am as a girlfriend and you don’t —“

“I never said any of that,” she whispers.

“You did, though! When you keep badgering me about this part of me that you hate? That right there is telling me that you don’t like me for who I am as a person. I’m trying to change it because you are worth more to me than any of that, but I don’t need to keep hearing it. I don’t need to keep hearing it, okay?”

“I’m sorry for everything that I said,” she talks a little louder but still doesn’t turn to face me. “I mean it. I’m sorry for _ everything _that I said. But I need you to know that it wasn’t like that, okay? It wasn’t like that. I ignored you all week and didn’t talk to you because I didn’t want to get you into trouble. I love you being here, Quinn. I love this for you. And I thought that if you saw me and talked to me and texted me and stuff, I thought that you would get in trouble and I didn’t want that. Being here makes you happy and I couldn’t do anything to get in the way of that.”

“But then you —“

“I know, I got wrapped up in Kurt. I did. I got so wrapped up in him that I started to forget about you and that’s exactly what I wanted. I wanted to forget about you for that week because I had to stay away from you and I knew that it was going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. So I kept myself busy with Kurt. And I was so busy with him that I just forgot about you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I hurt you and I’m so sorry if I pushed you away but you don’t understand…” She starts crying and her voice raises an entire pitch. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand? Whatever I don’t understand about you Rachel, I_ want _to understand.” I pick her hand up and hold it inside of mine. “Make me understand.”

“You won’t,” she pulls her hand away from mine and shakes her head. “You won’t ever understand. You’ll never understand what it’s like to walk around so scared all the time.”

“Scared? Scared of what?”

“Scared that this is all just some stupid, elaborate hoax. Scared that this is just an attempt at _ humiliating _me and knowing that if it is, then I don’t know if I’ll get through it this time because I really love you!”

“Rachel, what —“

“I’m talking about you, Quinn! I’m talking about you! And how you could possibly be interested in someone like me. If this is just a joke… if this is just some prank between you and Santana to humiliate me and break my heart so you can laugh about it later then please, consider the job done. Every day I fall more in love with you and I get SO scared that it might be the day you pull the rug out from under me. Scared that you will see me for who I am. A loser that is annoying and insufferable with a big ego and big voice. One day this whole charade is going to fall apart and I’m going to need my friends when it does. I'm going to need Kurt because this is all just a joke but my feelings for you are real. They’re real and you’re going to break my heart and I’m just trying to prepare myself for when that happens, okay?”

“Rachel…” I hold her hand and scoot closer to her. “That is NEVER going to happen.” I put my hands on her cheeks and pick her head up. “Look at me. Look.” Her eyes are wet and her jaw is still trembling but she’s looking at me. “I promise you. That is never going to happen. Ever. The way I feel about you is real. There’s no charade, no joke, no hoax. This is real. I’m all in with you. I am ALL IN with you, Rachel Berry.”

“Do you have a thing for Santana?” She sniffs and whimpers when she asks that which makes me feel like absolute garbage. The Santana thing must have really bothered her and I feel horrible for being the one to do that to her.

“No,” I shake my head firmly. “Not at all. The only person I have any sort of ‘thing’ for is you. Okay?”

“I’m sorry I said that loving you is exhausting,” she sniffs again and I notice that her tears are finally slowing down. I wipe underneath her eyes with my thumbs. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that having all these feelings for you all the time is just… it’s just so… tiring to feel this much for one person.”

“And I’m sorry for telling you that you don’t love me enough.” I finally take my hands away from her face, but I hold her hands with them next. “I promise I’m going to try to be better for you. I won’t be perfect, but I will be better.”

“I’ll be better too,” she wipes her face one last time and looks down, the last official step to pulling herself together. “I’ll be more understanding and listening to you better.” She clears her throat. “...What did you and Santana do?”

“It’s not important,” I mumble, seriously hoping that she just drops it because I don’t want to hurt her with any details.

“Please, Quinn. I want to know.”

“At Puck’s party, she saw Brittany making out with a guy. She was drunk, crying and I was on an acid trip. She kissed me because she needed something to take the pain away, I guess. So she kissed me and I kissed back and she put her hands up my dress. It was a five minute thing, maybe even less. It meant absolutely nothing to either one of us.”

“So how did you kiss her? Was it… with tongue? Or… no?” She looks at me like she’s cringing; ready for the answers but not really knowing what to expect. I don’t want to tell her that it was with tongue because I feel like it might hurt her if I do, so I just improvise…

“I can show you better than I can tell you…”

And she looks at me with raised eyebrows next, like she’s challenging me or something. It’s not long before both of us are tilting our heads and leaning in slowly. Our lips touch ever so lightly — they just brush up against each other — then I pull away. And she grins.

“It was like that?” She asks, voice thick and sultry.

“Yeah,” I nod, noses touching.

“So it wasn’t like this?” She opens her mouth and kisses me with tongue this time and I have to clench my hands into fists to stop myself from jumping all over her. _ Mercedes and her parents are downstairs. We can’t do anything now. But god, she is so irresistible… _

“Maybe a little like this…” I whisper when I pull away and move down to her neck.

“Yeah?” Her breath catches in her throat as her fingers curl through my hair.

“And a little of this…” I keep kissing her neck, even as I walk my fingers past her knee and toward her inner thigh. She parts her legs for me and I’m really into it. Like, super into it…

“Quinn, you got any laundry that —“

...So into it that I’m probably more mad than scared and embarrassed when my door suddenly flies open and I have to pull my hand out of her underwear and stop kissing her faster than the speed of light.

Mrs. Jones doesn’t cross the threshold to get into my room when she opens the door, standing there carrying a laundry basket. And I want to say that she didn’t see anything. I want to say that me and Rachel pulled away from each other fast enough for her to have not seen a thing.

But the look on her face tells a different story.


	44. Baby, Baby

I hope they go to bed soon, because I’m really thirsty and I have to pee.

I don’t usually skip days when it comes to showering but after Rachel left, I just really didn’t want to come back out of my room, so I nixed the shower for tonight and decided to put my pajamas on and go to bed early instead. I haven’t been in bed by nine since the week I came back from treatment, and I haven’t been ready to fall asleep before ten since I was actually inside the center.

I didn’t walk Rachel down the steps and out the door when she left, I just walked her to the top of the staircase and watched from a distance as she closed the front door behind herself. She wasn’t kicked out or anything like that, but we both decided that she should probably leave and though we didn’t talk about it, we felt each other’s embarrassment oozing from our pores.

She left about an hour ago and I’ve been laying in my bed since then with a dry throat and a full bladder, because I haven’t heard Mr. and Mrs. Jones come upstairs and settle in for bed yet, and I’ve been listening for that. I’ve been bouncing back and forth between my Facebook, my Snapchat and my Instagram, and there’s really nothing to keep me entertained on any of them.

I don’t know how much Mrs. Jones saw, but I know she saw something because the way she looked at me was like she just heard me speak another language. Our eyes met and her eyebrows raised and she lost her grip on the laundry basket she was holding for a split second before catching it again. She looked at me for several seconds, just standing there trying to make sense of what she might have walked in on, and I held her gaze for a moment until it was too painful to keep doing it. When my eyes dropped away from hers, I scooted away from Rachel a little bit and that’s when Mrs. Jones just backed out of my room and closed the door. Rachel took one look at me and stood up so fast that she stumbled, and I followed her to the steps to tell her goodbye.

My strategy is to avoid them as much as possible and for as long as possible, which is a bad idea, I know. If I were telling Bailey that I plan to avoid the Joneses, she’d give me some big long lecture about how avoidance is wrong and how it’s just a deflection technique and she’d be encouraging me to approach them and start a conversation about what just happened tonight, but I’m not afraid to admit that I am too weak for that. I’m strong about many things but when it comes to talking to Mrs. Jones about that, it’s just not something I’m able to do. I know avoiding them and putting this conversation off is wrong, but I just haven’t figured out what I should say yet.

What do you say when the person you admire the most in the world suddenly finds out one of your secrets? And the secret is so big that you know for a fact it would change the way they look at you. The secret is so raw and integral to who you are as a person that you know it would completely alter their opinion on who you are as a person. The secret is so fresh that you’re still figuring out how to cope with it yourself.

Mrs. Jones now knows the most embarrassing and humiliating and shameful thing about me. She saw me kissing Rachel — I know she did — but more than that, she saw me take my hand from between her legs. And that’s not something I can easily explain away.

She can tell me to get out of her house because of this, and I don’t think I would blame her. She’s already taking in a depressed, traumatized, bipolar maniac of a teenager. And if that’s not enough, that teenager is also a mother. Being gay is just adding the cherry on top of my disaster and if she decides that being gay isn’t something she’s willing to tolerate on top of everything else, then I can’t say that I’ll blame her.

_ I could just sneak out while they’re sleeping tonight. I could pack up all my clothes and shove them into my duffle bag again. I could leave the phone they bought me on my bed and leave a note saying thank you for everything they’ve done for me. My credit card should be enough to rent me a room for at least a month, as long as I make it a pretty cheap hotel. Before that month is up, I could apply for a few jobs around here and also for an apartment. And if all of that falls through then I still have my car. I can stay in my car for a while too. _

I tap the icon to open up my Facebook for the thousandth time tonight, and pull down to refresh my feed. Santana added to her story, so I tap on it to watch it and apparently she and Brittany went to Breadstix tonight because she posted a picture of Brittany from across the table and said “soulmate” with a bunch of heart emojis. I think it’s funny how most people will look at that and think they’re the best of friends but to people like me, we’ll know Santana is serious.

_ “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. I’ll leave before they get the chance to kick me out. Tonight, while they’re sleeping, I’ll just head out. I’ll make it quick and painless for everybody involved. _

When I see that nothing new is happening on Facebook, I switch over to Instagram and see the same picture of Tina and Mike posing on a pumpkin farm that I “liked” an hour ago. There’s nothing new there either, so I linger on my home screen for a moment and try to figure out where to go next.

_ I wonder if Mercedes knows anything… _

I open up my messages app and draft one out to her, sending it pretty quickly before I have the chance to overthink and not send it at all.

**iMessage**

**Thursday, November 7**

**9:51 p.m.**

**ME: **has your mom said anything to you?

I start scrolling through the “search and discover” tab of Instagram, and I’m elbow deep, drooling over this picture of Angelina Jolie and Gal Gadot on this page that morphs celebrity pictures together. Aside from Rachel, I think an Angelina Jolie/Gal Gadot hybrid is my dream woman. I haven’t allowed myself the proper opportunity to actually drool over girls. Every time a thought about finding a girl attractive creeps into my head, I swat it away and knock it down and try to pretend like I didn’t just think what I actually thought. Because thinking about girls in the way I actually want to think about them still feels wrong to me and I wonder if there’s any amount of therapy or medication that is ever going to change it.

I’m zooming into the picture to focus on the lips when my phone vibrates with a text from Mercedes.

**New iMessage**

**Thursday, November 7**

**9:54 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **No and u need to stop worrying n go to sleep. I told u my mom aint like that and she probably aint mad but she aint said nothing to me about anything

**ME: **yeah but how would you know for sure when you’ve never been gay yourself to know how your mom would react?

**ME: **she walked in on me about to fingerbang rachel i’m pretty sure she’s mad.

**ME: **what should i say if she asks me about it?

**ME: **i’m pretty sure i can kiss my phone and my car goodbye again lol.

And just as I’m about to type out something else to send to Mercedes, I hear two knocks on my door, so soft that I almost completely miss them.

_ Oh god, it’s time. It’s time to face the music. I should’ve known she was going to want to talk about it tonight. I should have known that she wasn’t just going to go to sleep tonight and forget all about it. Now I’m going to have to look her in the eye when she kicks me out. Great. Just great. _

“Come in,” I say, really unsure if I should be giving her permission to come inside or if I should be pretending that I’m sleep instead.

She’s already dressed for bed when she softly pads into my room and cracks the door. Her nightgown is dark purple with little bees all over it and her slippers used to be white before Whitney and Bobby played tug of war with them last week. When she sits down on the bed beside me and folds her leg underneath herself, the scarf on her head unravels and instead of fixing it, she just takes it off and lays it across her lap. She smells like the Ivory soap she and Mr. Jones use in their bathroom.

“We need to talk, Kiddo,” she hesitated before she started speaking, which makes my stomach drop. It’s like the hesitation before you get really bad news. I want to look her in the eye and be respectful because she warrants that. She deserves at least that from me. But I can’t. I can’t look her in the eye. I just look down at my feet instead. “You don’t gotta talk. You can just listen.”

I keep my head down as I sigh, wanting to say something — wanting to _ apologize — _but not quite having the words to do so. She puts a very gentle, soft hand in the middle of my back and I feel her fingers drum along my spine twice before she takes them away.

“S’that why you and your momma had that fight? S’that why you went and got up out that house?” She asks and I nod, taking full advantage of the fact that she said I don’t have to talk. “‘Cedes know?” I nod again, slower this time, not sure if I’ll get Mercedes into any trouble by admitting that. “Everybody else at school know?” I shake my head.

She sighs and I’m pretty sure that this is it. This is the moment when she rips the band-aid off and tells me that I can’t live inside of her house as long as I’m gay. This is the part where she bans me and Rachel from seeing each other and tells me that if she catches us together again, she’s going to send me to a conversion camp. This is the moment when my good luck finally runs out.

After she sighs, she puts her fingertips on my forehead at the crown of my hairline, then slides them back and through the knotted pieces I left out of my messy bun. “You’re just as pretty as you wanna be, QuinnQuinn.”

_ Pretty…? You just called me pretty…? So you’re not about to completely destroy me by telling me how much you hated what you saw and you’re not about to kick me out of your house and tell me that you expected more from me and never want to see my face or Rachel’s face again and — _

“I’m sorry I ain’t knock,” she circles my face with the tips of her fingers then stops at my chin to pick my head up. “You deserve and earned your privacy in this house and I was wrong for just barging up in here like that. I shoulda knocked first.” _ You’ve got to be kidding me... is she seriously apologizing to me? For not knocking? What planet did this woman come from? Because I’m convinced that she isn’t real… _“You know you ain’t allowed up in this house alone with that girl no more though, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” I whisper, mostly because I’m still in shock over the way she just apologized to me, but also because I feel like it’s a little disrespectful to talk to her before she’s done speaking. Just one single tear starts rolling down my cheek, but I wipe it away before it splashes onto my quilt. I’m not even sure why I’m crying at this point, but I am.

“If Rachel wanna come over here from now on, she’s more than welcome to come over here and see you. But me or Jared gotta be home. Alright?” Her voice is firm, authoritative. All I can do is nod. “And don’t you close no more doors when you up here alone with her. I ain’t gonna come up here and police what you two do in this room when you’re alone but don’t you think about shuttin’ that door.”

“I won’t.”

“I ain’t running no brothel. I ain’t gonna sit here and say don’t have sex ‘cause I know you a teen and the hormones is crazy right now and I can’t stop you from having sex. You gon do it whenever you can and wherever you can and I can’t stop that. But you ain’t gonna do it in my house. I ain’t allowing that.” She starts putting her hair scarf back on, but she never stops talking when she does. “Same rules that apply to ‘Cedes when her lil boyfriend is over here is the same rules that apply to you when your lil girlfriend is over here. I want y’all’s hands where I can see them at all times, no closed doors in this house, Rachel gotta speak to us whenever she walk up in here, you gotta ask me permission before she come over and I needs to know where you gonna be at if you decide to go on a date somewhere.”

_ She’s literally acting like she just caught me with a boy… I mean yeah okay, there are a lot of rules to follow and guidelines to abide by, but she is literally treating me like she just caught me with a boy and not a girl. Does she really not care…? Does she really think of me and Rachel’s relationship the way she thinks of Mercedes and Sam’s? Is it seriously not a problem that I’m gay…? _

“Yes ma’am,” I finally talk a little clearer and a little louder, but my voice still sounds weird because I’m in a permanent state of shock. _ I can’t believe these people… I can’t believe that I’m so lucky to have stumbled upon these people… I don’t deserve this… I don’t deserve them…. _

“Invite her to dinner sometime this weekend,” she stands up from my bed and stretches now. “I want her to come over here and eat with us so I can get a good look at her. Make sure she’s alright for you.”

“Okay. I’ll let her know and then I’ll let you know which day we decide on.”

“Mmkay,” she heads for the door and turns around one last time before leaving. “I love you, sugar. Get some sleep. We’ll talk about that other thing some other time. Mmkay?”

“Okay.”

When she leaves and shuts the door behind herself, I know that I am officially in the clear. And I can’t freaking believe it. _ Oh my god. She doesn’t care! She doesn’t care! I can bring Rachel over freely! I don’t have to hide her or make excuses or try to explain why I’m sitting so close to her or looking at her a certain way! She knows and she accepts it! She accepts me! This it totally unreal! I can have a girlfriend! I can have a girlfriend the way most teenagers have boyfriends! She can come over my house and I can tell my parents that I’m going on a date and I don’t have to lie and sneak! Oh my god! I have to tell Rachel. I have to tell Rachel, this is crazy! _

**iMessage**

**Thursday, November 7**

**10:29 p.m.**

**ME: **we’re in the clear.

**10:30 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **What do you mean?

**ME: **with my parents.

**ME: ***mercedes’ parents

**ME: **we’re in the clear. i just talked to her mom and she doesn’t care!

**RACHEL: **You’re kidding…

**ME: **nope! haha! she just put rules in place for when you’re over.

**ME: **they want to meet you officially and have dinner with you like they made sam do when him and mercedes first got together.

**RACHEL: **Omg…

**RACHEL: **I was just going to continue seeing you anyway but knowing that we don’t have to be secretive about it is amazeballs!!!!!!

**ME: **i know!!!!! i was so shocked.

**RACHEL: **My dads kinda want to meet you too but I was waiting for the right time. 

**ME: **ok so you can have dinner here tomorrow and then maybe i can have dinner with your dads saturday???

**RACHEL: **Well tomorrow it will have to be before you stay over my house.

**RACHEL: **Did you ask about that?

**ME: **no but i think it will be okay. i think i’ll be allowed. mercedes’ mom will probably just want to make sure your dads are home and we aren’t alone in the house.

**RACHEL: **Okay that’s fine but just make sure you ask. You HAVE to sleep over tomorrow. It’s a must. I’m dying for you to.

**ME: **i don’t think it will be a problem.

**ME: **so dinner here tomorrow night at 6? then after we’ll just go back to your house?

**RACHEL: **Sounds good. What about on Saturday?

**ME: **we’ll have to figure out a time bc i have therapy at four then i’m watching beth until 1030 when shelby gets home.

**RACHEL: **Maybe Sunday or Monday then?

**ME: **sunday will probably be best.

**RACHEL: **Okay so dinner with your parents tomorrow then mine on Sunday?

**ME: **sounds like a plan.

**RACHEL: **Okay I’m heading to bed now, love.

**RACHEL: **Goodnight and I love you.

**ME: **goodnight & i love you too babe.

**RACHEL: **Night Babe :) :) :)

  
  


I laugh out loud when I see her last text message to me, then lock my phone. Tonight is the first night in a very long time where I’m going to bed happy. And maybe I’m moving a little quickly and jumping to conclusions and setting myself up for disappointment, but I really think that I have a chance now. I’m in a house where I am loved, celebrated and accepted. I am in a house that feels like home. And me and Rachel are communicating a whole lot better. And I have a good relationship with Beth and Shelby. And I didn’t cry over Puck raping me today. And I haven’t felt like throwing up in a while. And I’m… I’m happy.

I’m happy and full of hope.

After I put my phone onto the charger, I roll out of bed and head for the door so I can finally trudge down the hallway to go pee. I’ve been holding it for at least two hours now and since everything seems to be in the clear, I can finally go. I tiptoe past the giant pillow that Whitney and Bobby use as a bed, only being quiet because they’re both sleeping with their paws in the air.

The way the house is set up, I have to walk past the stairs to get to me and Mercedes’ bathroom. And I wish I didn’t have to do that, because then I’m drawn to the two voices I hear downstairs, tangled up in the midst of what sounds like an argument. I feel wrong for eavesdropping and I know that I should just go to the bathroom, ignore it and then go back to bed.

But I can’t. Not whenever I know the reason they’re arguing is because of me…

So even though I know I probably shouldn’t, I sit down at the top of the steps and rest my head against the railing, eyes closed as I listen and take in the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Jones yelling at each other for the first time since I’ve known them.

“I still say we go after him,” Mrs. Jones sounds really, really angry. And anger sounds wrong when it comes from her. It feels… unnatural for her or something. “What good are we if we don’t? Answer me that, Jared. I mean really answer me that. What kinda parents is we if we let it go?”

“I’m not saying that you’re wrong. I’m just saying that it should be up to Quinn what she wants to do. We shouldn’t do nothing behind her back. You see how long it took for her to even tell us. She been through enough and don’t need to go through nothing else.” Mr. Jones’ voice is calm and steadying but it’s still condescending at the same time and I find that weird coming from him.

“Well I’m telling you now, that child ain’t gonna agree to press charges and that’s that. I know that lil girl. I know her almost as well as I know ‘Cedes and I know that she ain’t gonna say we can press charges. So while you all up in my face talkin’ ‘bout letting her make her own decisions about it, I already know her decision. And her decision is wrong.”

“She ain’t wrong if she don’t wanna relive that shit, ‘Trice! That don’t make her wrong! That makes her human! That makes her someone who don’t wanna keep going through their darkest days!”

“Well I ain’t about to have her walking around that school looking at him! I ain’t about to have my baby walking around school looking at the bastard who raped her. Nuh uh,” Just by the way she says that, I can tell she’s shaking her head. “Something gotta give ‘cause that ain’t happening. Not to my baby. Imma pull her up outta that school before I let that happen.”

“And take her away from all her friends and activities. That ain’t what’s best for her neither.”

“Then what is best for her? Since you sitting here tellin’ me what is and what ain’t best for her, you must know. So tell me, Jared. What’s best for her? How do we handle the situation? ‘Cause it _ really _ain’t best for her to keep lookin’ that boy in his eye every day. How she ever ‘posed to get better if she gotta do all that?”

“I mean…” Mr. Jones sighs and I hear the chair slide across the floor so he must have sat down. “I can handle it the old fashioned way if I need to. I’ll make sure he ain’t never coming back to McKinley.”

“Fuck’s sake, be reasonable, Jared.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to react, Tricey. I just found out someone hurt one of my girls in the worst way, how you want me to react to that?”

_ Wow… he would beat someone up…? For me…? _I keep my head against the railing and my eyes closed, but I bring my hand up and rest it against my heart as tears creep out.

“I just don’t know why this shit wasn’t taken care of back when it happened,” another chair scrapes across the floor so I think she sat down too. “Why is it a year later and ain’t nothing been done about it?”

“Well she probably ain’t tell her momma about it when it happened,” Mr. Jones replied. “You know how quiet and private she can be sometimes. She probably ain’t tell nobody.”

“Nah, that’s bullshit too. That’s bullshit because I woulda known. Any mother woulda known.”

“Patrice —“

“You ain’t changing my mind on this, Jared. So don’t even try. It all boils back down to that piece of shit that baby gotta call a mother. There ain’t no way in hell she shouldn’t have known. When you a mother, you ‘posed to learn all that shit about your baby. You ‘posed to know when something is wrong with your baby. ‘Cedes can’t even skip a period without me knowing ‘cause Imma notice when I ain’t buying her tampons. Ain’t no way she gonna come up in this house after being raped and I ain’t knowing about it. Should be the same for her. I don’t care how private and how quiet that baby is. She was raped and her momma ain’t even know because the bitch ain’t a mom. She ain’t a mom. She a egg donor. She don’t get to take no credit for the way that baby upstairs turned out.”

“All’s I’m saying is that you’re being a little hard on Judy and —“

“Well she’s hard on Quinn!” I hear a loud thud so I think she might have banged her fist off the table. “Somebody gotta hold that woman responsible for the shit she do and her baby is too sweet to realize it so I’m gonna. The lord blessed her with the most beautiful lil girl. She smart, she beautiful, she thoughtful. She all of that. And you gonna decide to have nothing to do with her all because she kissing some little girls every now and again? Piss on that.”

_ I’ve never heard anyone talk about me that way… _

“Ain’t no reason why she shouldn’t have known. She was _ raped _ , Jared. She wasn’t hit by her boyfriend or cheated on by her girlfriend or failed a test. It wasn’t some bruise she coulda just put makeup on or some lie she coulda told or some paper she coulda hid. She was _ raped. _Held down and raped. And she got pregnant because of it. And you mean to tell me Judy just ain’t know? Judy ain’t know? And when she did find out, she ain’t press no charges or make no changes to the baby’s schedule or nothing? She knew. The bitch knew. She just turned a blind eye to it.”

“But what if she didn’t?”

“She did. I ain’t convinced my Quinn didn’t show it. She can’t hide no shit like that. If she was with us back then, I’d know right after it happened because I know she cried. I know she cried when she got home or withdrew from shit. I know she did. And there ain’t no way I woulda let her mental health get as bad as it did, neither. I’d have took her ass straight to therapy the second she gave that baby up for adoption because no sixteen-year-old can do that. Let alone a sixteen-year-old that had a baby from rape. I’d like to go over there to that fancy ass mansion and beat the hell outta that woman. She failed my baby so miserably. No wonder she so messed up!”

“Just calm down, honey. We gotta think this through rationally.”

“I ain’t calming down. Not when it comes to that woman treating my daughter the way she do. And unlike her, I WILL be calling the doctor up tomorrow. I want her checked. I want her checked for STDs, for anything that motherfucker coulda gave her.”

“That was probably already done. She was pregnant, Tricey. ‘Member that.”

“Well I’m definitely gonna call up to that school and get some of her classes switched if she got any with that motherfucker. I don’t want her seeing him anymore. And if I find out that Glee club teacher knew about all this and ain’t do nothing to protect her from continuing to see him? Imma fuck him up too. I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of every adult in my baby’s life failing her. That shit ends today. No more of it.”

And for some reason, that really sticks with me because I never thought of it that way and she is so very right about it.

_ Every adult in my life has failed me in some way. _

I wipe my tears with my t-shirt and finally get up off the steps so I can use the bathroom and go to sleep for the night. _ They really do love me. I mean, they ACTUALLY love me. How did I get so lucky? How did I end up here with these two people? Against all odds? _

_ Every adult in my life has failed me… _

_ Every adult except for them. _


	45. Friday I’m In Love

**New iMessage**

**Friday, November 8**

**4:25 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Are you home yet?

**iMessage**

**Friday, November 8**

**4:29 p.m.**

**ME: **yeah i got home like half an hour ago.

**ME: **why? what’s wrong?

**4:34 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Sid you ask about staying tonight?

**RACHEL: ***Did

**ME: **not yet but i will. i’m helping with dinner i’ll ask in a minute.

**RACHEL: **Okay just text me. Please don’t forget to ask. It’s very important that you spend the night tonight :)

**ME: **i think i’ll be allowed.

**ME: **why is it so important?

**RACHEL: **Because I love you!

**ME: **okay well i love you too. i have to help with dinner so i’ll see you in an hour or so.

**RACHEL: **Okay I’ll see you!

Whenever me and Rachel are done texting, I lock my phone up and put it on top of the microwave so it’s out of my way while I continue to shred these carrots up. Mrs. Jones sprinkles cheese on top of her perfectly layered lasagna and shakes the jar of parsley over it as a garnish. I’ve only had her lasagna once before but I know that it tastes pretty good and Mercedes told me once that her recipe is tried and true from her grandmother. I just wonder if it’s going to taste any different today because she didn’t put meat inside the sauce once I told her that Rachel is a vegetarian.

I didn’t think that I would be when I woke up this morning and went to school, but now that I’m at home and helping make dinner, it’s all setting in and I’m starting to feel really nervous. It’s going to be just me, Rachel, Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Mercedes says she’s hanging out with Sam and has been gone since we came home from school, and Mr. Jones put Whitney and Bobby downstairs in the basement until after Rachel leaves so we can have a peaceful dinner.

I know they’re going to love Rachel. If she keeps the self-inflated ego in check and doesn’t go off on any tangents about being better than Mercedes, I think they’ll really love her. There’s so much to love about her. She makes good grades and is always on the honor roll. She doesn’t get highest honors like me, but she gets high honors and she is really good at writing English papers. She is very polite when she needs to be, which is huge for the Joneses. They value good manners above a lot of things and Rachel has those. She always says “please” and “thank you” whenever she knows she needs to. And she’s very articulate, which Mr. Jones will like. He appreciates people with extended vocabularies, probably because he reads a lot of books when he’s in the recliner relaxing.

_ I just hope they like her. I think they will. But I don’t know for sure. _

“Quinn? Baby, can you look up in that cabinet by the fridge and hand me the oregano?” Mrs. Jones asks me, screwing the cap back onto the parsley.

I stand on my tiptoes and sift through the entire cabinet of spices in search for the bottle that says oregano. _ I think for Christmas I’ll get Mrs. Jones something to organize all the things in her kitchen cabinets, like the spices. Maybe I’ll get her a spice rack that can sit on the counter. My own mother would never need something like this because the only things in our spice cabinet is salt and pepper and onion powder because she doesn’t cook anything serious, but Mrs. Jones might appreciate that. It seems like something she’ll actually need. _

“Here you go,” I mumble as I finally pull it from the very top shelf of the cabinet.

“Thank you, sugar,” she screws the cap off and starts shaking it on top of the cheese too. “How was your day at school today?”

“It was fine,” I gather up my shredded carrots and put them inside the salad bowl with the lettuce and red onions. “I had a chemistry test that I think I aced. I think I missed one question.”

“That’s my girl,” she opens up the oven and sticks the pan of lasagna inside. “You alright today? You see anybody today?”

“Anybody like who?” I start opening up the bag of grape tomatoes so I can wash them off before I slice them and add them to the salad. I hate tomatoes but I think Rachel loves them so I’m going to put them in the salad just for her. “You mean like my therapist? She only comes in Tuesdays.”

“No baby, I meant…” she grabs the bag of Texas Toast from the freezer and undies the twist tie. “I was asking if you saw him?”

“Him, who?” I wrinkle my brows but don’t stop cutting the tomatoes, which squirt all over my dress.

This is the one and only dress I wanted to wear for dinner tonight with Rachel and my entire outfit coordinates with it, so I grab a paper towel and wet it in the sink so I can scrub the tomato spit off my dress. It’s the dress that I was wearing the first time I ever met Rachel and though I’ve gotten a little bit bigger over the years and it fits me very snug, it _ does _still fit me and it does still look decent on me. It’s white with light blue vertical stripes and two pockets on the breasts. It didn’t come with a belt, but every time I wear it, I put a brown belt across my waist just to make the colors pop. I’m not allowed to wear shoes in the house, but I have a pair of brown cowgirl boots that match the belt and I always make sure my blue socks come up just enough to peek over the edge of the boots. I even tied it all together with my blue headband. I doubt that Rachel will remember, but on the first day of freshman year, we sat next to each other in honors biology and she told me she liked how my headband matched my dress.

“You mean Puck?” I ask, tossing the wet paper towel into the trash since I was able to get the red marks off.

“That his name?” She raises one eyebrow but doesn’t look at me. She just keeps placing slices of Texas Toast onto a cookie sheet. “The one who did that to you?”

“Yeah,” my voice is a little unsteady but I’m trying to stay strong. I told myself that I’m done letting it define me and who I am as a person and that’s what I meant. I’m not sure that it will ever be easy to talk about, but I’m at least willing to try.

“You been seeing him in classes and stuff since it happened?”

“Not really,” I shake my head. “I see him mostly in Glee club, but that’s fine. There’s a bunch of other people there and I mostly just ignore him.”

“Quinn, I’mma need you to tell me everything. Alright?” She twists the ties back onto the bag of bread and tosses the leftovers back inside the freezer, finally sitting down and looking at me straight on. “It don’t gotta be now and it don’t gotta be tomorrow, but I do need to know. I need to know exactly what we dealin’ with.”

“Okay.” I sit down in the chair across from her and fold my hands in my lap. “What do you want to know?”

“Whatever I need to know to get you some justice and make sure it don’t never happen again.” She says and I take a deep breath and hold it in. I think she notices my reaction, because she starts talking again instead of waiting for me to. “Are you sure it was that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… I mean maybe you said yes but then you said no and he got confused? Or maybe you did it then you done regretted it the next day and —“

“No,” I shake my head firmly at her. “No. It wasn’t like any of that at all. It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t nice, it wasn’t —“

“Okay, okay,” she puts her hands up. “Calm on down, sugar. It’s okay. You know I believe you. I’m just tryna understand is all.”

“He got me drunk.” My jaw starts to tremble so I try to stop it by sucking on my lip and maybe I’m not as ready to get over it as I thought. Or maybe this is just the way getting over things works. Maybe it’ll be like this for the rest of my life; some days I’m strong and it doesn’t make me want to cry. And then other days all I want to do is sit down and cry. Maybe it’ll always be this way, maybe it’ll always come and go in waves. But I’m not sad. It’s just hard to talk about. I’m not sad and I still refuse to cry anymore.

Mrs. Jones sits back in her chair and listens to everything I say super intently.

“We were drinking wine coolers and he just kept giving them to me and giving them to me and giving them to me. And I thought he was drinking too. I thought he was drinking too, which is why I kept drinking them but then I noticed that he was still on his first one and it wasn’t going anywhere. Like, he would put it up to his lips and it looked like he was taking a sip but when he’d put it down, it never moved. It was still just as full as it was when he pretended to take a sip. So I had like, five. Maybe six. And I started to feel… dizzy? Drunk, I guess. I felt really dizzy and lightheaded so I asked him if I could lie down on his couch and so I did. I was on his couch and trying to feel okay enough to drive home but he just… he sat down next to me and rubbed his hands on my legs. His hands were so cold. They were SO cold and he just kept touching me.” I clear my throat. “And he started kissing me and I kissed him back. So we were kissing and he started moving in a little rough, you know?”

“He got rough with you?!” Her eyes grow by about two sizes and I can see flames in them. She is _ crazy _angry right now.

“Yeah,” I nod. “He just laid on me and stuff and I asked him to get off because I wasn’t comfortable doing it anymore, or something like that I said. I think I said that I couldn’t do it because I was in the celibacy club or something, I dunno. That part is still a little fuzzy and it hasn’t come back to me yet. But he just told me to drink another wine cooler and I’d be fine. Which, I didn’t. I didn’t drink another one. I felt horrible enough so I didn’t want to do it again. Then I got up and I was going to go home, but I was stumbling so then he held my arm and told me that he was gonna help me. He told me I needed to lie down first and he suggested I lie down in his bed. I think I might have said no to his bed but I got up the steps anyway and then I was actually in his room. And we started kissing again and I asked him if maybe we could just go back to kissing because I wasn’t sure about having sex. And he just kept trying to talk me into it. He kept telling me how beautiful I was and how much he wanted me so… So I said okay…” my jaw trembles again as I watch tears fall down Mrs. Jones’ face. 

“I said okay. I told him okay. I said “okay but don’t tell anyone” and he started moving so fast and I just wanted him to stop. I said okay but then I didn’t. And then he was on top of me again and I was… begging him to stop. He took my skirt off and I asked him to stop. Then he tried to take my underwear off but I closed my legs and he got mad and just… like… ripped them. And I told him that it hurt, I remember that now. He just started doing it really fast and I was crying and I told him that it hurt but he said that I just needed to get used to it and as soon as I relaxed and got used to it, it would start to feel good. But it didn’t. It just kept hurting and he was so big and crushing me and he was mean and I was just there and I didn’t fight him off or push him away. I just laid there. I laid there like an _ idiot _and just waited until he was done with me.”

Mrs. Jones puts her head down like she’s at a funeral or something, which makes me genuinely uncomfortable, but I hold my head up high. I’m still not sad. I’m still not broken down or crushed by it anymore and I still feel strong. I said I wasn’t crying over Puck anymore and I meant that.

Mrs. Jones pulls herself together, clears her throat, then looks at me. “So um…” she sniffs. “Jared and I talked. For a long time last night, we talked. And we decided that whatever we do about it from this point forward is going to be all up to you. Mmkay? So if you wanna press some charges on that boy, we support you. If you wanna tell the school on that boy, we support that too. It’s all up to you.”

I take a deep breath and think, really think, about the options they’re giving me. I thought about it all night before I fell asleep last night and I was thinking about it today in Glee club as well. I was just thinking and thinking about what I really want to happen to Puck now that I have options and people behind me willing to back me up. I thought about his life and how miserable it is. I thought about the way Shelby won’t let him see Beth because of it. I thought about the way he might get expelled from school if I told and by some miracle, somebody believed me. And I thought about how it happened a year ago and how unlikely it is that anything will ever be done about it. I thought long and hard about all of it and I’ve come to my conclusion just now, sitting at the table across from the woman who is more of a mother to me than my own.

“I’m okay, Mrs. Jones,” I hold my head up high, shoulders back. Confident. “I wasn’t. For a very long time after he did that to me, I wasn’t okay. But I am now. I am okay for the first time in a long time and I just… I want to keep being okay. I’m ready to let it go and leave it in the past.”

“You don’t want us to do nothing about it?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I have a really great therapist who helps me dig through everything. And I have a _ really _ solid household that I’m living inside of — one that I _ never _want to leave. And for the first time since he raped me, I feel okay again. I’m sorry, but I don’t wanna do it all over again. I wanna get over it and leave it behind me. He knows what he did to me. He knows. And he has to live with it.”

Mrs. Jones takes in a very deep breath and sighs. She runs her fingers through her tight black curls and sighs again, as if she’s just not sure what to say to me at this point.

“Quinn,” she starts. “You stronger at sixteen then most people my age. You’re incredible, kid.” She gets up and comes over to hug me and I’m completely ready for it. In fact, I welcome it. I let her envelope me in the warmest hug ever and I hug her back because this woman has singlehandedly given me the strength I needed to get over this. She doesn’t know it, but the only reason I’m okay is because of her and her husband. They’re the ones who gave me a place to heal. So if anyone is incredible, it’s truly them. “Me and Jared are with you a hundred percent, sugar. A hundred. You don’t wanna press no charges or nothing, then we won’t do it. But I’m telling you know. If that boy even breathes in your direction one more time, Jared ain’t gonna be nice about it. Mmkay

“Okay.”

“I’m proud uh you. I don’t think a lot of people tell you that, so I’mma tell you right now. I’m proud uh you for the way you handled everything and the way you don’t let nothing get you down. I’m real proud.” _ Thank you… I can’t even begin to describe what hearing that means to me… you’re right… nobody ever tells me that… _“So,” she smooths a few loose strands of my hair down, then lets me go. “Tell me about Rachel. Lemme know what she’s all about before she get here.”

“Oh my god,” my smile is so big that my cheeks are starting to hurt but I can’t help it. Talking about Rachel always gives me butterflies! “She is _ so _ amazing, Mrs. Jones. She’s a singer, first of all. She’s a singer and her and Mercedes are probably the best two in the entire club, honestly. She is SO unreal. And she’s so nice, too. She’s sensitive but she’s not really, like, a punk, you know? Like you can’t just bully her and she won’t do anything back, she has a breaking point. But she is such a gentle person. She doesn’t like to fight, she doesn’t like confrontation and she’s really passive at times, which I HATE. But she also doesn’t like to share the spotlight. She’s a little bit selfish and maybe a little arrogant, but it’s like… warranted, you know? It’s not cockiness because she _ is _that good. I just… I dunno, she’s just great. She’s great. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”

“She make you happy?” Mrs. Jones opens the stove to check on the lasagna. “All that gushin’ and cheek blushin’ goin’ on. You really like that girl. She make you happy though?”

“Yes, she does. She makes me SO happy.” I’m still smiling and my cheeks are still hot. “We fight a lot and sometimes it’s explosive because we just butt heads a lot but she makes me SO happy, mom! SO happy!”

_ Shit, I slipped up again… is she gonna tell me not to call her that or can we just ignore it? _

“That’s all that matters then,” she shoves the lasagna back into the oven to let it bake some more. “‘Long as she makes you happy, she’s good in my book.”

_ I guess we can just ignore it. Good, I really don’t feel like discussing what calling her “mom” means. I didn’t mean to, it just slipped. And it’s not like I want to call her mom and her husband dad. That’s not really what I want. They’re not my parents and it’s probably a bit disrespectful to my real parents if I acknowledge them as such. It just slipped out. It meant nothing. It slipped out and I was talking too fast. She’s not really my mom, I know that. But speaking of… _

“...Why do you think my mom hasn’t called?” I ask her and it catches her off guard a little bit, because she stops what she’s doing just to look at me for a split second. And the look on her face tells me that she doesn’t quite know how to answer that question, but she continues on like she does.

“Probably ‘cause she know you safe here. She don’t need to call and check up on you ‘cause she know you safe here with me and know you getting taken care of.”

“...I don’t really think she loves me anymore,” I admit that to her and really, I admit that to myself too because I didn’t know I felt that way until the words fell out of my mouth. But I guess maybe I really do feel that way, actually. Because if she loved me, she’d text or call me… wouldn’t she? Or she’d come over to visit me. She’s my mom, for crying out loud. My mom. “I think when I left, I gave her what she wanted and now she can just be with my dad freely.”

“Well even if that is true, which I know it ain’t. Your momma loves you in the best way she know how to love you. It may not be the way she need to love you and it may not be healthy. But she love you the best way she know how and with everything she got. But even if she didn’t love you, I love you enough for everybody in the world, you hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So stop worrying about it. Don’t you worry about your momma not loving you.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Me and Jared done heard you at the table last night,” she walks over to the fridge to her herself something to drink. “When you slipped up, I mean. We heard you. And I heard you just a second ago, too.”

“...You did?”

“I did,” she pours some Pepsi into a cup for herself. “Look Quinn, I ain’t pressurin’ you or nothing. Alright? But you welcome to call us whatever you like.”

_ Wouldn’t it hurt mom and dad if I did, though? If I just decided to start calling Mr. and Mrs. Jones my mom and dad, wouldn’t that hurt my actual parents? Yeah, they’ve hurt me. But I don’t wanna hurt them… But Mr. and Mrs. Jones feel like my parents. They feel like my mom and dad. I respect them like a mom and dad. So shouldn’t I reflect that? _

“Okay, mom.”

* * *

I think they like her, which is really good. I mean, I knew they would. Nobody ever actually truly hates Rachel. Sure, she gets annoying and a lot of people can’t be around her for extended periods of time, but nobody ever truly dislikes her and those who do just don’t know her the way they need to know her to fully understand her. I think my parents really like her which is a big step in the right direction.

Mr. and Mrs. Jones both listen to her like they actually care what comes out of her mouth every time she speaks, and all the jokes that Rachel has tried to crack tonight haven’t fallen flat. She’s making everybody laugh and working them with her charm and I’m starting to wonder if maybe I was nervous for no good reason. I should have trusted in her ability to make them love her. She has the uncanny ability to make _ anyone _love her.

“I mean, I guess I would be okay if I were just a recording artist someday,” Rachel stabs a piece of salad with her fork. “But Broadway is really the big goal. I’ve wanted to be on Broadway since I saw my first show in the womb.”

Mr. and Mrs. Jones laugh at her when she says that and I laugh too, but not because of what Rachel said about being in the womb. I’m laughing because she’s deadly serious and they think she’s joking but she’s not. Shelby told me this story once, actually. The first time I watched Beth at her house with Rachel, she told us that she saw Les Misérables while she was pregnant with Rachel and knew then and there that Rachel was going to be a performer because she kicked the whole time the songs were playing.

“So when’d you first realize you could sing?” Mrs. Jones cuts a piece of her lasagna off at the corner then blows on it. “Your parents push you into voice lessons?”

“I sang before I could talk and while my voice wasn’t quite as amazing and compelling as it is now, my dads couldn’t help but notice my perfect pitch so they set me up with my vocal coach and the rest is star-born history.”

“Her mom is Shelby,” I say with a mouthful of food. “Remember? The one I told you about? With the really pretty voice? Sounds like she could be a voiceover artist for Disney or something?”

“The one who adopted the baby?” Mr. Jones asks.

“Yeah. Shelby. Shelby Corcoran. That’s Rachel’s mom.”

I glance over at Rachel to make sure she’s okay with me saying that and she doesn’t seem too distressed about it. She is busy cutting a crunchy part of the noodles and trying to pull it off. Sometimes she’s really proud of Shelby being her mother because… well… she’s Shelby and like Rachel, the more you know her, the more awesome she becomes. But then there are other times where she gets kind of ashamed of Shelby being her mother because Shelby is doing very good for herself and Rachel feels like she could have kept her if she really wanted to. It’s hit or miss with Rachel’s feelings on Shelby.

“That woman got a big voice.” Mrs. Jones nods her head. “I went and looked her up after Quinn told us that’s who had the baby and I saw her sing. She got a big voice. Huge one. You mean to tell me you can sing like that, Miss Rachel?”

“Well I’m not actually as old as Shelby and I don’t have as much vocal control, but —“

“She’s better than Shelby, actually,” I shrug.

“Quinn!” She nudges me with her foot under the table.

“What?! You are! Shelby’s amazing but she can’t do what you do.”

“Obviously Quinn’s a little biased,” Rachel mumbles, head down looking at her plate.

“So Miss Rachel, I have to ask,” Mrs. Jones puts down her fork and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Do your parents approve of you and our Quinn?” _ I can’t believe she just asked that! Oh my god! _“Because I gotta say, we ain’t got no problem with Quinn going over to your house to hang out sometimes, but we only gonna let her go places where she’s welcome. She don’t go nowhere that she ain’t wanted. She goes where she’s celebrated, not tolerated.”

Rachel swallows her bite of lasagna and nods her head slowly, like she’s trying to reassure them. “My dads are gay and they’ve been married for twenty years, so. It’s not a problem with them. They were actually happy when I came out to them. And I’m sure they’ll love Quinn.”

_ Okay, ma. See?! See?! It’s not a problem! Can we stop with the embarrassing, on-the-spot questions now?! _

“So Ma,” I tuck my hair behind my ears as I change the subject. “Do you and Dad care if I stay at Rachel’s tonight? Her dads will be home and we’ll respect their house rules and I’ll call you before we go to sleep. Can I stay? Please, please?”

“‘Cedes told us this morning you was gonna ask to stay at Rachel’s tonight,” Mr. Jones grins. “She told us to let you, too.”

“I don’t care if you go, baby,” Mrs. Jones shakes her head. “Go on and have fun. Can’t remember the last time me and Jer had the house to ourselves on a Friday night.”

“Mercedes isn’t coming home tonight either?” I ask.

“Nah, she’s staying…” Mr. Jones starts to say, but Mrs. Jones glares at him and he starts to retract. “She’s staying somewhere else tonight.”

“Okay!” I spring up from the table because now I don’t feel so bad knowing that Mercedes is going out tonight too. Sometimes I feel bad whenever I leave Mercedes home by herself because me living with her is supposed to be an endless sleepover and we go wherever each other goes. But knowing that she won’t be here tonight either just gives me all the more reason to go to Rachel’s.

_ They took that surprisingly well… the way they’ve been acting really made me think that they would have said no. They treat me and Rachel the same way they treat Mercedes and Sam and there’s no way in HELL Mercedes would ever be allowed to stay at Sam’s house. They would NEVER allow that. Maybe it’s because I can’t actually get pregnant from having sex with Rachel. Mercedes, on the other hand, can get pregnant if she stays at her boyfriend’s house and the only thing I can get from Rachel is a headache and an orgasm. Maybe that’s why they agreed. Because there’s no real danger in me being gay. _

I start by cleaning up the dishes once I’m up from the table, but Mrs. Jones grabs my hand. “Just go grab your stuff, we’ll clean the table. You can go.”

“Are you sure?!”

“Yeah, we’re sure. You and Rachel go on and head out.”

Rachel pushes her chair easy from the table and stands up too. “I’ll wait for you out in the car.”

“Okay, I’ll be right down, I’m just gonna go pack a bag.”

As I jog up the stairs two at a time, I hear Mr. and Mrs. Jones telling Rachel how nice it was to meet her and how they want her to come back soon.

And I couldn’t have asked for dinner to go any more smoothly.

* * *

Rachel puts the car in park as we pull into her driveway, and I immediately go for the door handle so I can let myself out.

She’s been acting kind of weird since we left my house and I’m starting to wonder if maybe she’s changing her mind about me sleeping over. Or maybe she’s mad at me for putting her on the spot and saying that Shelby is her mother and she’s a better singer, I don’t know. All I know is that she’s acting weird. She keeps looking at her phone every five seconds, even while she was driving. And she won’t talk to me, really. She keeps giving me short answers. I keep asking her why it was so important for me to stay at her house tonight and she just kept saying “because.” And I asked her what we’re going to do tonight, and she keeps saying “I don’t know, whatever you want.” And I asked her if she wants to order takeout way later so we can just gorge ourselves and watch movies and she said “maybe.” She’s being weird and I hope that maybe once we get inside, she’ll straighten up. Because she was so excited about me staying earlier and now it seems like she couldn’t care any less if I do or if I don’t.

Even right now, she’s looking down at her phone and her thumbs are flying across the screen and she’s kind of shielding her phone away from me like she doesn’t want me to see the screen or something. So I just sling my overnight bag over my shoulder and start to pull the door handle to get out, but she grabs my arm and pulls me.

“Wait!” she exclaims, sounding panicked. “We can’t go in yet…”

“Why not?” I wrinkle my eyebrows.

“Because,” she locks her phone and puts it in the middle cupholders. “Because I… I want to kiss you?”

“We can kiss inside?” I shake my head slowly, trying to make sense of her behavior but I really can’t. I go for the door handle again and she grabs my arm just like she did the first time. “Rachel, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I said I want to kiss you! Right here! Right now!” She pulls me closer to her by my arms and tilts her head slightly to the side and before I know it, her lips are crashing against mine. She bites my bottom lip as she pulls away and I’m just really confused. “Come on, Quinn. Kiss me. You know I can’t help myself when the mood strikes and I just want you so bad. I want you so bad right here.”

“Rachel, what in the world —“ she grabs my face with her hand and pulls me in for another kiss and it’s way steamier this time. It’s her tongue massaging mine and her hand against my waist and even though I’m a little confused by all of this, I can’t resist her kisses, so I close my eyes and kiss her back.

But even with my eyes closed, I can tell that something is off. She’s not kissing me the way she usually does. I’ve kissed Rachel enough times to know how she kisses and the patterns in which she puts her tongue into my mouth. It’s different this time. It’s way different. And I can feel her hands moving behind my back, but it’s not in a sexy way. Not in a way that she’s trying to take my bra off or something like that. Her hands are moving like she’s doing something literally behind my back and I just don’t know what has gotten into her and why she’s acting so weird.

_ Is she… texting? Is she texting behind my back? _

“Rachel —“ I mumble, pulling away from her kiss. “Rachel, what is going on? You’re being super weird.”

“It’s not weird to find my girlfriend extremely hot and bangable right here in the car,” she shrugs. “Nature called. I was really feeling it.” Her phone buzzes in her hand and as soon as she looks at it, it’s like her entire personality returns and she snaps completely out of it. “Ready to go in?”

“You’re so weird,” I shake my head again and actually get out of the car this time.

I follow her up the walkway and up the four steps that lead to her front door, and I wait a few steps behind her as she shoves the key into the lock and opens it.

_ Maybe she’s PMSing. I do a lot of crazy stuff whenever I’m PMSing too, so maybe that’s the case with her. Maybe that means we’ll have sex tonight. If her hormones really are racing and she’s being this irrational and insane, maybe I’ll have some really hot sex tonight. _

_ If she’s mad at me, I wish she would tell me. It’s nothing to apologize for putting her on the spot with the Shelby comments. _

“I’m gonna go put my bag in your bedroom,” I say as I bend down and unzip my boots so I can take them off. 

“Wait, no!” She grabs me by the hand the same way she did in the car and I’m really starting to get annoyed. I’m starting to think that Finn is here or something and she’s trying to keep me from seeing him because she knows I’ll freak out. “Come downstairs first. To the Oscar room.”

“Rachel, let go of me! Whatever’s going on, you need to just tell me! Now, before I make you take me home!”

“There’s nothing going on! There’s just something I want to show you downstairs. I made something for you and I want to show you!”

“Why can’t I put my bag down upstairs before you show me?! Is somebody up there?!”

“What?! No! Quinn, come on. Let’s just go downstairs really quick and then you can put your bag upstairs, okay?” She takes my hand and drags me to her basement door. We slowly climb down the steps, hand in hand, and I’m so severely annoyed that I wish I could burn her hand while she’s holding mine. I wish I could spit fire from my limbs and burn her hand to get her to let me go. “I worked so hard on it and you’re gonna love it. Just wait until you see it.”

As soon as we get to the very bottom of the steps, I start to smell… pizza? Or something? I don’t know, it’s some kind of food that I smell and it smells really good and even though I just ate lasagna and salad and garlic bread, the smell is making me hungry.

Rachel flips the switch to make the lights of her Oscar room turn on and as soon as she does, _ everything _starts to make sense. Her weird behavior, the texting behind my back, the kissing me to stall me, the dragging me to the basement instead of letting me go upstairs… it all makes so much sense now.

**“SURPRISE!” ** They all scream as soon as the lights turn on and though I jump because they _ did _surprise me… I mostly just want to cry.

Santana is sitting up on the bar with her legs crossed, and she’s holding a pink and yellow balloon. Brittany is standing by a table with a big pink and yellow birthday cake on it. Mercedes is sitting on one of four blow-up air mattresses, and Tina is busy taking down the tops of the pizza boxes. Even Sugar and Lauren are here and they’re arranging a stack of board games. And all hanging across the top of the bar, a pink banner with yellow writing reads, **“Happy 17th Birthday, Quinn!”**

And I just start to cry because I didn’t think I had friends and a girlfriend who love me so much.


	46. Make Me Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature language in this chapter, so just read with caution and discretion.

* * *

* * *

“Can I come out yet, guys?” I ask, then I press my ear against the wooden door so I can hear their response.

I know it’s only been about five minutes or ten at the very most, but it feels like I’ve been crammed inside this bathroom for an hour and I’m starting to sweat because I can’t find a way to close the vent. I think it’s neat and all that Rachel’s dads built The Oscar Room and it’s really nice how they have a stage front and center and a really big screen with a projector hanging from the ceiling, but it’s clear that not nearly as much thought was put into building the bathroom as there was put into building the rest of the place.

It’s big enough for a toilet, a sink and a shower. It’s not big enough for anything more than that. The shower is right next to the toilet and the sink is right across from that. When the door opens, it hits the toilet and if you’re not careful, it can make the tank of the toilet fall down and hit your foot. Apparently that happened to Rachel once and she cautions us every time we have an event down here.

It’s decorated nicely, don’t get me wrong. There’s a really nice round rug that is brown and white and it’s super fluffy between my toes. And where a mirror should be hanging above the sink, there’s a picture of white flowers inside of a brown vase. It’s a very nicely decorated bathroom but I’m getting extremely claustrophobic and I’m going to freak if they don’t let me out of here anytime soon.

“Guys, I’m coming out!” I lift the little brass ring that opens the door up and push it open just a tad, but I immediately feel someone pushing back against me. “Guys!”

“Not yet!” Rachel yells from the other side of the door and through the crack at the bottom of it, I can see that someone just turned the lights off.

_ I’ve had enough surprises for one day. _

I guess this whole thing was Rachel’s idea. At least, that’s what Mercedes told me. I was watching her try to set up the projector and sipping one of Santana’s famous “boozy milkshakes” — the one she made with strawberry ice cream and rum — when I turned to Mercedes and thanked her, because I would’ve bet money that she was the one who organized it. She told me she’d love to take credit for it, but Rachel’s been organizing it all week and planned everything down to the games and decorations.

We listened to music at first and just sat around and talked and drank because Rachel couldn’t get the projector to work and she wanted to do karaoke first. But eventually she decided to give up on getting the projector to work and that’s when I was forced into the bathroom and locked in and told not to come out. I don’t know what they’re doing next, but I know that I’ve had way too many surprises for one day. All I really want to do is eat my cake.

“Come on, guys! I’m getting claustrophobic in here and it’s super hot!”

I pull my t-shirt away from my skin by the collar just to let some air inside because I am sweating bullets. Had I known that this was going to be an actual sleepover with everyone instead of just me and Rachel, I would have picked different pajamas. I wouldn’t have picked these black satin ones with the white pinstripes all over them. They’re comfortable and very loose, but they’re not very forgiving and if I didn’t wear a bra with the button up shirt, everyone in the room would be able to see my nipples and that’s only okay if it’s me and Rachel here, and even Mercedes. It’s not okay for every girl in Glee club to see all that.

“Rachel! I’m sweating so much, come on! Lemme out!”

“In a minute,” she says, still relatively close to the door. “Almost done.”

“Whatever you guys are doing, I don’t care! I just want out of this bathroom!”

The back of my pajama shirt is almost soaking wet. It’s uncomfortably damp and sticking to my skin and I feel like I’m going to start to smell bad in a minute, even though I put deodorant on before I left the house. Even my toes are sweating and I took off my socks after the first three minutes I was locked in here.

“Alright, you can come out!” Rachel yells and I can tell by the tone of her voice that she’s further away from me now.

If I wasn’t so hot and so claustrophobic, my mind would be racing with ideas and thoughts about why they could have possibly locked me inside the bathroom and what they have in store for me, but I’m burning up and five seconds away from having a panic attack, so I lift the ring up again and push the door open so quick that it smacks the wall when I do.

And the whole room is pitch black except for the light still on in the bathroom that goes out whenever the door swings shut behind me. The room is dark and I don’t see any of my friends, which makes me sad more than anything. It’s not that I think they’ve just abandoned me or anything like that, because I know they didn’t. If I look really hard, I can see Sugar’s feet poking out from behind one of the air mattresses. And I can hear Brittany giggling when I hold my breath. But it’s just the thought that makes me sad — the mere possibility that I could come out of the bathroom and all the girls that I love so much could be gone.

But before I can make myself too sad and get too far into my own head, multi-colored party lights start dancing all over the walls and the ceiling, and the music starts playing over the speakers so loud that I can feel the floor vibrating underneath my bare feet.

Rachel is the first one to dance her way out of hiding, and she comes out from behind the bar with star-shaped sunglasses on her face and a fluffy pink feather boa around her shoulders. _ Oh my god… _is the only thought I have in my head when she starts singing.

** _“Baby don’t make me spell it out for ya._ **

** _All of the feelings that I got for ya,_ **

** _Can’t be explained but I can try for ya.”_ **

As she shimmies her way over to me, I can’t help but start laughing at her. She looks like such a goofball but I feel myself falling deeper in love with her. I know this was her idea too. It had to have been. Nobody else would put together a performance for my birthday and with one of my favorite songs nonetheless.

** _“Yeah baby, don’t make me spell it out for ya._ **

** _You keep on asking me the same questions._ **

** _And second guessing all my intentions.”_ **

She pulls another pink boa from the bar counter and a pair of star-shaped sunglasses from her pocket. And as she stands a mere inches away from me, I bow my head because I already know what she wants to do with the boa and she proves me right as soon as she drapes it around my shoulders. I shove the pair of sunglasses on my face too, then she grabs ahold of my hand.

And we could be the only two people in this room right now and I wouldn’t care. In fact, as the chorus rolls around and the rest of the girls in their feather boas and star sunglasses all come out from their hiding place to join along in singing, I hardly notice them. The only person I see is her and the only thing I feel is her hand in mine, pulling me into dancing like we’re in a music video and singing at the top of my lungs with everyone else.

** _“It’s like I’m powerful with a little bit of tender!” _ ** I grab Rachel’s hand and spin her around as we sing together and there I go again, wishing I could freeze time and bottle it up and save it for a time when I really need it. ** _“An emotional sexual bender!” _ **

Rachel bumps my hip with her hip and makes me laugh, then I start to remember that it’s not just me and her in this room — that I actually have quite a few people here to celebrate me.

Usually I would care about this. Usually, I’d have major anxiety about looking like an idiot in front of them with my pajamas on and a feather boa and stupid sunglasses. Usually, I’d be sitting on a bar stool just watching everyone else make fools of themselves and relishing in the fact that I’m not one of them.

But it’s a Friday night and I’m with my friends. And this is the definition of what a typical seventeen — no, sixteen — year old should be doing, isn’t it? I feel free. Free enough to look like an idiot, free enough to not care if I look dumb, free enough to be… me.

I shimmy my shoulders over to where Mercedes is dancing in front of Santana and Brittany, both dancing on the bar. She looks at me with a huge smile on her face, and I grab her arm and put my hand on her back so I can dip her like they do in all those weird 80s movies about dancing and stuff.

** _“That’s just the way you make me feel!” _ **We all sing along to the chorus together and everyone is shaking their hips except for me and I’m cringing at myself, I really am… 

But I grab my boa and floss it around my neck as I shake my butt too.

** _“That’s just the way you make me feel! So good, so good, so fuckin’ real! That’s just the way you make me feel! That’s just the way you make me feel!”_ **

I’ve heard people say plenty of times before that laughter is the best medicine and I used to agree with that statement wholeheartedly. But I don’t think the person who came up with that saying had this.

There comes a moment when you’re in the middle of a finished basement with all your closest friends and you feel like you are the only people on the planet. Music is turned up so loud that the pictures on the walls vibrate and the lights are crawling so fast that they’re just a blur of a thousand colors. Amongst the song lyrics, there are laughs and hugs and butts shaking and feathers flying and sunglasses slipping. Feet stomping, hands clapping, love bouncing off the ceiling. And you stop dancing for one second because you want to make sure it’s actually happening and you want to take in the moment and make sure you’re going to remember it.

There’s nothing else quite like that moment.

* * *

Mercedes looks over all the cards in her hand one-by-one, and she giggles at the last one. “I have one,” she says, face wide with a huge smile because the last one is the one she picked, which means Tina is the winner.

When I was pregnant, all me, Mercedes and her parents ever did was play Cards Against Humanity. Every night, Mercedes and I would come home and do our homework first thing. Then we would eat dinner and take our showers, and after our showers, we’d gather up in the living room and play a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity. Playing with Mercedes so many times, I’ve learned all her facial expressions and I can tell when she reads the card she’s going to pick as winner. She’s hitting us all with the half-smirk after reading the very last card and Tina was the one who handed her the last card, so Tina won. It’s simple, actually.

“Okay,” Mercedes swallows her laugh and clears her throat so she can read the options. “What exactly is up my ass?”

I have to bite my lip and hold back laughter because even though I didn’t win, I still think mine was a pretty funny answer.

“Cake farts,” Mercedes starts. _ That wasn’t mine. _

“A single, shiny Bitcoin,” she continues. _ Also not mine, but pretty funny. _

“Trickle down economics.” _ That must have been Brittany’s because it makes absolutely no sense. _

“A secret blend of eleven herbs and spices,” she chokes out through a laugh. _ That was mine and it’s hilarious! And everybody else thinks so too, because they’re laughing! I should win! _

“The heart of a child,” she snickers and Sugar cringes, so that must have been hers. _ Not that bad. Not hilarious but not bad. _

“Justin Bieber,” Mercedes laughs the hardest at that one but I still don’t think it’s Tina’s.

“And cumsalot,” she puts all the cards in the “used” pile and smiles as she announces her winner. “I like cumsalot the best.”

“Finally!” Tina throws her hands up in the air and goes for the cards since it’s her turn to be the judge. “I thought I would never get a turn!”

“Oh come on! Cake farts was great!” Rachel pouts. “Because a fart comes out and —“

“We get it, Rachel,” Mercedes pats her back. “Cumsalot is hilarious though, you have to admit.”

Tina dishes out new cards to us and lets us filter through them as she tells us the question we have to answer. “You guys ready?” She asks and we all nod. “Make ______ Great Again.”

_ Oh, I already know which one I’m using! I love fill in the blank ones! I’m super good at these! _

A couple rounds ago, I thought about purposely giving bad cards to the judge because I was winning left and right. I’m freakishly good at Cards Against Humanity and I was kicking everyone’s ass and the game was starting to not be fun anymore, so I slowed up a little bit. But now that Tina just won a round and Mercedes won the round before that, I think I can step my game up again. There’s no way I’m not going to win with this one.

I flip my card over and hand it to Tina, then wait as the rest of them hand over their cards too.

Rachel hasn’t won a single round and I feel bad but it’s because she’s trying too hard to be funny. She keeps trying to make her answers logically make sense and be funny at the same time and it’s just not working. Someday I’ll teach her how to just be funny naturally while playing Cards Against Humanity.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Tina holds all our cards in her hand and reads them one by one.

“Make the beautiful sport of Turkish oil wrestling great again.” _ That sucked. Probably Brittany’s again. Or Rachel’s, honestly. _

“Make shit! great again.” _ A little bit better. Probably Santana’s. _

“Make passive-aggressive tweets great again.” _ That was definitely Mercedes. _

“Make talking about the size of your penis on live TV great again.” _ That was mine and everyone’s laughing! Including Tina! Safe to say I won again! _

“Make finding glitter in my vagina great again.” _ Brittany’s. Easy. _

“Make dating your daughter great again… what the hell?” Tina holds her stomach because she’s laughing so hard and I think I have some competition…

“Make whichever one of you took a shit in the shower great again.”

_ Okay, damn. There were some good ones that round… I don’t know if I won… _

“I pick…,” Tina looks over all the cards one last time. “I pick make dating your daughter great again. That was insane.”

“That was mine!” Rachel’s hand flies up in the air and suddenly I don’t care that I lost anymore. I don’t care about losing, as long as I lose to my girl. And plus, winning made her so happy.

“Okay, this is boring,” Santana tosses her cards back into the box and gets up to grab the pitcher of rum-infused milkshake. Even though we’ve all had more than a few cups and some of us are a little bit buzzed, we all hold our glasses up so she can refill them because when else are we ever going to have the opportunity to get drunk in such a safe setting again? And it’s not like we get drunk every weekend. “Let’s play something new,” she says after topping off everyone’s cup.

“Like…?” I ask, licking my lips free of whipped cream.

“I don’t know, but not that.” Santana sits back down and takes a huge sip of her milkshake. She’s been drinking the most so I guarantee she’ll be the first to pass out or throw up.

“You guys ever play Never Have I Ever?” I suck the droplets of milkshake that spilled over the rim of my glass off my fingers. “We used to play it all the time at Cheerio’s camp.”

“What’s Never Have I Ever?” Rachel asks me. Next to Santana, she’s been drinking quite a bit tonight too and I’m just sure to keep an eye on her.

“Isn’t it just when you go around and say all the things you’ve never done?” Mercedes asks.

“Yeah, but you put your finger down if you’ve done it. Okay? So say I’m like… ‘Never Have I Ever fallen off a bike’ and you have fallen off a bike, you put your finger down. Last person with the most fingers up wins.” I explain. “Everyone got it? Put your fingers up.”

“So I have to say things that I’ve never done?” Rachel looks at me as she stretches out all ten of her fingers.

“Yeah. Here, I’ll go first,” I sit up straight and hold my fingers out too. “Never have I ever… been suspended from school.” I look around and watch as nobody except for Santana puts a finger down. “So if you have been suspended from school, you put your finger down. Get it?”

“I get it,” Rachel nods. “I’ll go next.”

“Okay.”

“Never have I ever colored my hair,” she says and watches as me, Sugar, Lauren and Tina all put our fingers down.

“Never have I ever been in a fist fight…” Sugar goes next because she’s next in the clockwise direction that we’re going in. “...Yet.”

Me, Santana, Lauren and Brittany all put our fingers down and Santana looks over at Brittany like she’s never been more confused in her life.

“When have you ever been in any kind of fight in your life?” She asks her and Brittany shovels more potato chips into her mouth. “Brit…?”

“Me and Lord Tubbington had a really bad fight over drugs last year and I’m still not ready to talk about it,” she crunches on chips and Santana just closes her eyes for a moment before opening them up again.

“Mercedes, your turn,” I nudge her.

“And for god’s sake, don’t ask anymore baby questions,” Santana rolls her eyes and sips more of her milkshake.

“Okay, okay,” Mercedes sighs. “Um… Never have I ever… never have I ever kissed another girl.”

“Bitch,” I mumble under my breath and put my finger down because it feels like such a personal attack! Mercedes starts laughing when I call her a bitch but it’s not even funny! She knows like 50% of us here have kissed another girl! Me, Rachel, Santana, Brittany and Sugar all put our fingers down… and all of our heads turn to Sugar. 

“You care to elaborate on that one there, Miss Motta?” Mercedes leans forward to look her in the eye.

“My last school was an all girl’s school, so I kissed a girl by default,” she shrugs and I raise my eyebrows. _ I never pegged her as the type. Hm. Go Sugar. _“Tina, your turn.”

“Never have I ever told somebody I loved them without actually meaning it,” Tina spits that one out like she’s been thinking about it for a while. Me and Rachel are the only two people who don’t put our fingers down to that one, aside from Tina. And I feel good about that because it’s just further confirmation that she does love me.

“Never have I ever had an orgasm with a boy,” Santana goes for the jugular when she takes her turn, but nobody puts their fingers down except for Brittany… which makes Santana turn and give her a look of question.

“What?” Brittany picks her head up. “Artie’s actually really good with his mouth.”

Santana closes her eyes again as all of us bust into laughter and she thinks I don’t notice, but I see Mercedes’ finger ease down while we’re laughing… which makes my head spin so fast that I feel like The Exorcist.

“Wait a minute!” I grab a pillow and smack her in the head with it. “You lying liar! You lying little liar! You liar! You told me you didn’t! You told me that you didn’t! I asked you if you did and you looked me in the eye and said you didn’t!”

Mercedes laughs and looks down like she’s embarrassed. “I didn’t! Not the first time! But we’ve done it more times since and he gets better each time and I have since then!”

“When were you gonna tell me?!” I whack her with the pillow again. “You and Sam just… what? Hit the skins every time you hang out and you just magically had an orgasm one day and didn’t think to tell me?! I hate you!”

“I didn’t know I had to tell you everything!” She keeps laughing.

“When it’s something like your first orgasm, you do! I’m like your _ sister _for crying out loud!”

“Okay, Quinn. Sorry I didn’t tell you I had an orgasm. I didn’t know it was breaking news.”

“Well you guys are all lucky!” Tina says as she pulls her hair up into a long ponytail. “Never have I ever even _ HAD _an orgasm!”

“Oooh,” I mumble and watch as everyone except for her puts their fingers down. I watch Rachel from the corner of my eye to make sure she puts her finger down and I’m so relieved when she does. I mean, I knew she did. It sure seemed like she did back at sectionals when she went all crazy for that one moment. At least, I hope she did. I hope I got her there. I think I did. It’s just nice to get confirmation. “I’m running out of fingers, guys! Zizes, go!”

“Never have I ever had a crush on Quinn Fabray,” she says with all the confidence in the world like she’s actually going to get some people — other than Rachel — to put their fingers down and it just seems like she’s really going after Rachel and only Rachel because she’s clearly the only one who can relate. And I don’t know how she knows she’ll get Rachel out with a question like that because we do a very good job at keeping our relationship hidden. So I’m really unsure of Zizes’ agenda here.

Lauren watches everyone super intently after she asks her question and Rachel is the first one to put one of her fingers down. And I start to think that she’s it. I start to think that she’s the only one who will put a finger down and then we can move on with our questions and turns, but then something happens.

Santana puts one of her fingers down. And then so Brittany. And not only does Brittany put her finger down, but so does Sugar. But not only does Sugar put her finger down, so does Tina. And then last… but not least and definitely most mind-boggling to me…

Mercedes puts one of her fingers down too.

_ Did I misunderstand the question? Did I not hear her correctly? She did say that she’s never had a crush on Quinn Fabray, right? So then everyone who has had a crush on Quinn Fabray should put their fingers down… right? And it’s me… I’m Quinn Fabray, aren’t I? _

If I could see my face right now, I would be able to see a raised eyebrow and squinted eyes. I would see a jaw that is slightly hung open and confusion scrawled across my forehead with black sharpie marker. _ Literally… what? _

“Huh?” Is the only thing I can muster up and even then, it’s more of a grunt than anything. I look around at everyone just one last time, trying to make sure that their fingers actually DID go down.

“Oh don’t act like you didn’t already know,” Lauren shakes her head at me but I really am totally dumbfounded. “Everybody in this room has had the hots for you at some point in their high school career, with the exception of me. I just wiped out 90% of the population with one question.”

“I didn’t…” I shake my head. “Guys, do you really…? I’m… I’m flattered I guess, but I… I mean did you —“

“I used to look up your skirt every time you were at the top of the pyramid. I liked it when you wore pink panties under your tights,” Brittany says that like it’s literally no big deal at all which makes me feel… even weirder if that’s possible.

“Remember freshman year when we went to our first Cheerios banquet and coach Sylvester made us wear strapless black dresses?” Santana asks.

“...uh-huh?” I want to nod but it’s like my head is stuck and I can’t.

“Yeah, I totally masturbated to that mental image of you for like three weeks straight,” she shrugs.

“I’m…” I can’t find the words to say anything I want to say. I don’t even know what I want to say!

“And when we were all at Mercedes’ getting dressed for the costume party? I almost _ drooled _ over your body. I still can’t believe you look like _ that _after having a baby.” Tina shakes her head like I’m unreal or something.

And I feel unreal right now, like maybe this isn’t really happening to me. I pinch myself on the waist to see if maybe I’ll wake up. But I don’t wake up. And when I look to my left at my best friend, I still see that her finger is down too and I’m really just so fucking confused.

“...Mercedes?”

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s nothing new,” she looks away from me and maybe this is something she had to grapple with so I won’t push it too much. “It’s not like I like… pined over you or anything. I just thought you were really pretty and I wanted to be just like you, that’s all.”

“Um…” I clear my throat. And then I look over at Rachel next, just to see if she’s going to say anything or look at me and she doesn’t. She keeps her knees tucked up into her chest and her chin resting on her kneecaps. I don’t know what’s wrong with her except maybe the fact that she doesn’t like that all these girls were… smitten by me, apparently.

I hope she doesn’t think she’s in any competition with any of them because I really just find the entire idea a bit bizarre. I guess I just don’t really understand how anyone could have a crush on me. Not when I’m so messed up in the head and so mixed up on the outside. How could anyone have a crush on _ me? _

“Well, thank you?” I say, more asking than telling. “Um… Rachel, it’s your turn, I think. For… for never have I ever?”

Rachel closes her eyes like she’s thinking or maybe she’s just upset or maybe the alcohol is really kicking in for her, I don’t know. But she closes her eyes and doesn’t open them for a few moments. Only when she opens them does she talk.

“Never have I ever willingly cheated on a significant other,” she sighs and puts her legs down flat. I wish everybody in this room knew that me and Rachel are a thing, because I really want to reach over and hold her hand. Or possibly kiss her to let her know that I’m hers and only hers if that’s why she upset.

Santana, Mercedes and Brittany all put their fingers down and Rachel watches me to see what I’m going to do. And when she finally gets the picture that I’m not going to, she turns her entire body toward me and looks at me with wide, expecting eyes.

“What?” I raise my eyebrow at her and she raises hers back. “Rachel, what?”

“You cheated on me once. Are you really gonna lie to everybody in this room and not put your finger down?” She folds her arms across her chest and I’m a little worried for a moment, but I can tell that she is just being playful with me and I decide to play along.

_ I think she’s trying to ease us both out to the rest of the girls who don’t already know. Maybe that’s why she was so quiet. Maybe that’s why she was so reflective. She was trying to figure out a way for us to come out to them so we don’t have to keep hiding our feelings from them tonight. _

“Rachel, I have NO idea what you’re talking about,” I fight off a giggle. “I’ve never cheated on you.”

“Do you really want me to say it?!” She fights off a laugh too and we’re both holding each other’s gaze, trying not to crack. “Because I’ll say it, Quinn. I’ll say it. I don’t care.”

“Say it then! Because I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You went full on third base with Santana!”

“Okay first of all!” I hold my finger up at her and close my eyes so I can’t see the way everyone’s jaw just dropped around this circle. I’m not looking at Santana, but I know her face is probably super red and I know she’s probably upset because I told her I wouldn’t tell anyone but I’m almost certain she told Brittany so me telling Rachel kind of evens it out a bit. “That was not cheating on you because we were not together! Second of all —“

“Wait, hell to the no, back up!” Mercedes pushes me against my shoulders. “You did WHAT with Santana?!”

“It doesn’t even count! She was drunk and I was high off my ass but what’s important is that I have NEVER cheated on Rachel! Never! And it was nothing, it was —“

“I was confused,” Santana starts laughing and shaking her head too. “I mean in hindsight we can laugh about it but I was just confused as hell and drunk and Quinn was high and looked hot in her costume and I went for it. Whatever.”

“Right! It was just wrong place at the wrong time, but me and Rachel were NEVER together! We didn’t get together — officially — for like another month! It wasn’t cheating!”

“You kissed me that same night!” Rachel yells at me and I can’t stop laughing because god this really has been a messy road. And it feels good to laugh about it in hindsight because it really didn’t affect anything. Nothing came of any of it and I’m glad we can make jokes about it.

“Um, no. YOU kissed ME! You were drunk as HELL, Rachel! Drunk as a freaking skunk and you kissed me!” I point my finger at her and make her laugh.

“So wait…” Lauren holds her hand up. “You two are together? Like you’re actually a thing?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” me and Rachel say in unison, which makes me laugh even harder.

“Can’t say I saw that one coming,” Lauren mumbles to Sugar and they laugh too.

“You’re not about to hold that against me, Rachel Barbra! It was NOT cheating!” I shake my head.

“We were _ emotionally _dating, Lucy Quinn!” she banters back with me.

“WE WERE NOT EVEN CLOSE! I STILL HATED YOU!”

“Okay, but you knew I liked you!”

“Rachel, I didn’t even know you were gay! Or bi! Or whatever it is that you identify as!”

“Well neither did I! But then you came along and BOOM!”

“I didn’t cheat on you!”

“Okay, fine! Whatever!” She flips her hair over her shoulder and now that the cat is out of the bag, I just really want to kiss her… “I retract my statement about cheating on significant others. Instead, I recant and offer another statement. Never have I ever had an orgasm at the hands of Santana Lopez.”

Brittany is the only one who puts her finger down this time and Rachel looks at me super intensely, waiting for mine to go down. But it’s not going to because I didn’t have one with Santana. It was barely third base and definitely not long enough for me to come even close to orgasming.

“Ohh, Santana!” Mercedes leans forward and looks at her. “Quinn says you didn’t do a good job!”

“Are you really gonna say it wasn’t good?” Santana eyes me down from across the circle and challenges me. “You gonna sit here with a straight face and say it wasn’t good?”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” I shrug and try so hard to contain my big smile. “But I didn’t cum, so.”

_ Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that… I really am letting loose tonight. Must be the alcohol... _

“Oh, whatever! You were still moaning and if it didn’t get cut short, it definitely would have happened!” Santana rolls her eyes and I pick up my milkshake to take another hearty sip because I need more liquor in me to deal with these girls tonight. They’re really keeping me on my toes.

“So Quinn,” Mercedes nudges me with her elbow as soon as I pull my milkshake away from my mouth and wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “You think it would’ve happened if it didn’t get cut short?”

“Leave me the hell alone, Mercedes,” I shake my head. “I’ve got one for you. Never have I ever had sex in the bed of a fucking pickup truck, so take that.”

“It wasn’t the bed of the truck, for your information!” Mercedes yells at me and just when I think our argument is going to stay playful but get a little heated, Tina raises her hand so she can say something.

“Who’s better in bed?” She asks, hand still in the air. “Rachel or Santana?”

“Rachel,” I just say the first thing that comes to my mind in the most natural way possible and immediately clamp my hand over my mouth, wishing that I hadn’t said that! _ Now everyone knows me and Rachel have had sex! Oh no! _

Rachel picks up a pillow and buried her face inside of it and I feel so bad! They weren’t supposed to know about that! The sex was supposed to stay private between us! My god! I’m so embarrassed! And so is Rachel, clearly! That was supposed to be private! It slipped! I swear it slipped!

“Rachel, was it good?” Mercedes asks, tone playfully teasing. Rachel keeps her face in the pillow and now I’m curious…

I run my fingers through her hair as her face is still buried in the pillow and lick my lips to lubricate my question. “...Well? Was it? Was it good?”

“You tell me,” she mumbles into the pillow. 

But neither one of us speak the answer to that question out loud.

* * *

Her hair, silky and velvety smooth, cascades all down my thigh as she rests her head in the middle of my lap and I can’t stop thinking about how glad I am that she decided to out us to the group. I don’t know what’s going to come of the two of us being out. I don’t know if it’s going to change anything or if everything is going to be the same as it’s always been, I just know that glad for what we have tonight.

Glad that she can lie down with her head in my lap as we watch the movie intently. Glad that my hand can slip down inside of hers whenever a scary part makes me jump, and I don’t have to about glances. Glad that nobody looks at us strange when I use the side of my fork to cut off a fluffy piece of vanilla cake, eat it, then use the same fork to hold a piece to her mouth when I’m done.

I don’t think everybody is going to be this accepting of our relationship if and when we decide to come out to the entire school, but I can dream. I dream of a day when we can walk down the hallway hand-in-hand. She’ll be in one of her famous Rachel Berry outfits, complete with her little red beret. And I’ll be back in my Cheerios uniform with my skirt pleats swinging with every step. We’ll be holding hands and I’ll be walking her to class, sneaking a kiss on her cheek when he have to part ways. I dream of a day when everything will be calm. And me and Rachel can just float on through the school as ourselves. I know it’s wishful thinking for a place like McKinley High School, but still. I have that dream.

I stab the last piece of cake on our plate with the fork and scrape up the icing since I know the icing is her favorite part. The cake is good and in all honesty, I could have devoured the entire sheet of it by myself and happily thrown it all up later, but I’m working towards progress. Even tonight. So I scrape up the icing and let her have the final bite.

She chews it with her head still lying in my lap, and I drop the empty plate to the floor. At first, I thought that getting three blow-up mattresses and pushing them all together for us to sleep on was a really good idea and a good way to make sure we were all comfortable, but after three of Santana’s spiked milkshakes and two shots of straight vodka, I’m starting to feel like it was a bad idea. Granted, the room isn’t spinning as fast as it was a couple hours ago, but Tina almost broke her ankle standing on a stool and fixing the projector, and the lights being off while we watch the movie makes it feel like the air mattress is wobbling, and I’m pretty sure I might fall off the bed sometime tonight.

I let Sugar and Lauren pick the movie because everyone wanted to watch something scary and I’m not that big of a scary movie fan to know what to pick. They chose some ghost movie about a family who moves into a haunted house and if I wasn’t so tipsy, I would probably be really into it and really afraid of it. Rachel seems really into it. She’s been laying in the same position on my lap since it started, and the only time she budged was when I pulled the blankets over her a little white ago. Lauren and Sugar seem really into it, too. They’re both lying beside each other on their stomachs with their feet in the air, and to me and Rachel’s left, Tina and Mercedes haven’t made a beep either. The only person who isn’t paying attention, aside from me is Santana and since she and Brittany are lying to the right of us, I can see everything. Including the way Santana won’t stop looking at Brittany.

I stretch out and reach over the side of the bed so I can grab my phone.

**Text Message**

**Saturday, November 9**

**1:54 a.m.**

**ME: **stop eyefucking brit and make a move already.

**ME: **coward.

As soon as I press “send,” Santana’s phone lights up on the bed beside her and she picks it up. From the way the light shines on her face, I can see that she’s smiling at my text and her thumbs are poking at the screen fast, but slow enough that I notice the alcohol is probably taking over.

**Text Message**

**Saturday, November 9**

**1:55 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **Rach is so far between ur legs that she should b eating u out already

**SANTANA: **Why dont u make a move urself lol

**ME: **i’m not the one stealing glances. that’s you. and i’m not the one afraid to make a move. that’s you.

**SANTANA: **So do it then

**SANTANA: **If ur so brave

**ME: **i am lol.

**ME: **i’ll do it if you do it tho.

**ME: **nobody’s paying attention anyway.

**SANTANA: **Ok deal I’ll do it if u do it

**ME: **watch and learn.

**SANTANA: **Ok. Show me what NOT 2 do

Maybe it’s the liquor in my system or maybe I really am starting to come into my own and care less about what people think of me and what the world is going to say, I’m not sure which one. But I know it’s something, because when me and Santana both put our phones back down, I don’t hesitate for a single second. 

I go right to work by moving the blanket up so that it’s covering Rachel from the waist down because even though I did get the courage to do this from a dare with Santana, I still want to respect her and keep her privacy completely hidden. So once she is completely covered her, I slide my arm inside the blanket too, and the fact that she is laying with her knees pulled into her chest in the fetal position is going to make this SO easy.

I glance over to see if I can tell how far Santana’s gotten so far and I can’t really tell. All I can see is movement under her and Brittany’s blanket, but I can’t tell anything further than that.

Even though I want to just dive right in and go straight into it, I know that I have to ease her into it because she’s probably not expecting it and it’s really important for me that I give her the opportunity to reject me or stop me if I touch her in any way that she doesn’t want me to touch her. So I mind my manners by just resting my hand on her hip, just above her butt. My thumb absentmindedly strokes the waistband of her pajama pants and she doesn’t say anything or make any movements to tell me to stop, so I take it just one step further by opening up the waist of her pants and sliding my hand inside. Her underwear are tight, they’re that smooth nylon fabric, but I stroke my fingertips along the lace trim and pull them down just enough for me to get my hand inside.

I forgot how soft her skin is and how warm it feels underneath my fingertips. I glide them up her hip, then back down hip. Across her waist, down to the curves of her butt. My fingers leave a trail all across her backside in slow, circular motions. I want to be gentle with her, I want to take my time. But god, I can’t resist her and my hand has a mind of its own as I cup her butt and squeeze. She shifts beneath my grasp, probably just because I caught her off guard. And I don’t know if she’s ready or if she’s expecting it or if she’s even wet yet, but I can’t help it. I’ve been slow and gentle long enough. I want to do what I came inside her pants to do.

So without even really thinking, I move my hand a little deeper and curve my forearm around her butt so I can reach up to the front with the two most important fingers. Still laying in my lap, her eyes slowly close and she parts her legs for me a little, but enough for me to do what I need to do.

Her underwear are so tight, they trap me in and hold my hand in place. Between her legs is hotter than the rest of her body, burning with anticipation. The tip of my middle finger grazes a layer of her slimy, wet goodness and it’s nothing like the first time I did it to her. I’m not nervous at all, I’m eager. My heart is pounding in my chest and all through my fingertips and I start with one first. One finger — the middle one — digging inside her body and she adjusts to me. It’s like she remembers me, and maybe missed me a bit. It’s almost like a key, designed especially to fit inside the lock and once I’m inside, everything just falls into place.

I can’t lie her down and taste her the way my mouth is watering and longing to, but I need to. I _ need _ to taste her in the worst possible way, so I pull my hand out of the layers and bring it — bring _ her _— up to my mouth. And my ring finger is going in next, so I might as well get it all wet and ready, so I lick them both and go right back to where I was in the first place.

She’s exactly the same as I remembered; that sticky sweet taste. I lick it off my lips as my fingers dig into her even deeper, and her mouth hangs open. My fingers curl inside of her and jerks all of a sudden, but catches herself before it’s too noticeable. Only I can hear her breathing, shallow and interrupted. Her legs squeeze and close around my hand and she’s going to moan. I can feel it building up inside of her, hear it starting from deep in the pit of her stomach. She squeezes my knee and maybe I should go pull my fingers out and give her a moment to pull herself together since we have to be quiet, but I can’t. I can’t stop myself, I won’t stop myself. Not until I feel her all wet, all in the palm of my hand.

Her fingernails dig into my knee, and she scratches. Scratches at my knee, my leg, my arm the bed, anything she can get her hands on. And it drives me crazy, seeing her do that. It drives me the kind of crazy that makes me want to do nothing but go faster and faster. My heart is thumping in my ears now, and I move my fingers in that “come here” motion that she loves so much, faster and faster, until my rhythm matches the pace that my heart is beating.

She buries her face in my leg to stifle a low, satisfies groan as I feel her tighten around my fingers. I feel her mouth open against my calf, then the light pressure of her teeth as she bites me. Even from underneath the blanket, I can see her toes curling under and her legs get stiff for several seconds. And she’s exactly like I wanted her to me, wet and all over my hand. And I don’t want to leave her. I want to stay inside of her until my fingers get pruny and my hand loses feeling.

But I have some bragging to do, so I lean forward and kiss her on the cheek before pulling out of all those layers again.

I could probably use a towel to dry myself off because she really did get _ super _wet, but I settle for wiping my hand on my pajama pants so I can grab my phone. And maybe with anyone else, it would gross me out to know that I have someone’s bodily fluids on my pants and all over myself until I wash my hands in a minute, but it’s just Rachel. Nothing about her grosses me out. I think everything about her — every single part — is something beautiful that I should cherish.

**Text Message**

**Saturday, November 9**

**2:20 a.m.**

**ME: **i win :)

Santana reaches her hand from underneath her and Brittany’s blanket and grabs her phone when it lights up. She grins at my text again and types back.

**Text Message**

**Saturday, November 9**

**2:21 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **Y do u get to win?

**ME: **because i made her get there in 5 minutes flat :)

**ME: **bow down bitch.

**SANTANA: **So cute u r

**ME: **yeah yeah i see you still working on getting brit there so i’ll let you go :) i win tho :) i got her to orgasm quicker :D :D

**SANTANA: **U fool Brit already came …

**SANTANA: **Twice

**SANTANA: **U have a lot 2 learn young grasshopper

* * *

_ This could be my new normal and I would be totally okay with that. _

_ It could be all of us hanging out every Friday night like this. And it could be easy with me and Rachel just being out and our true selves with no judgment. And I’m happy. I’m genuinely happy tonight. I’m happy to sing and dance with my friends. I’m happy to gorge myself on party food and birthday cake. I’m happy to laugh. I’m happy to do sexual things with my girlfriend. I’m happy to lie here awake at four in the morning when everyone else around me is asleep and just think about all the ways that my life seems to be looking up as of late. _

_ I feel hopeful, which is something that is different. And I want to go to sleep because I’m tired and I have to go to therapy today and I’m watching Beth, but I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. Not whenever I’m too excited about the way things are looking up. _

I’m too excited to sleep, but I roll over and try to go anyway because I need to. I have a long day ahead of me and I need some rest. I roll over onto the side I’m most comfortable on, and close my eyes. But as soon as I do, my phone lights up and I grab it super quick because it’s any excuse to not fall asleep yet.

**New iMessage**

**Saturday, November 9**

**4:13 a.m.**

**RACHEL: **Still up?

**4:13 a.m.**

**ME: **yeah.

**RACHEL: **You take your medicine? The night pill?

**ME: **yes.

**RACHEL: **Okay just checking. Love you and goodnight.

**ME: **i can’t sleep…

**RACHEL: **Me either but I can’t sleep because I’m not comfortable. I’m sticky and sweaty from dancing earlier and my underwear are still wet :b

**ME: **sorry. i should have taken them off or something.

**ME: **scoot over i’ll hold you until you fall asleep.

**RACHEL: **I need to take a shower first but I’ll brb to cuddle when I’m done.

**ME: **ok i’ll wait up for you.

**RACHEL: **You’re welcome to join my shower if you want.

**RACHEL: ** :b

**ME: **lmfao ok.

**ME: **hurry up i miss you already.

She puts her phone down and rolls off the air mattress, careful not to wake anyone else up. I watch as she tiptoes to the bathroom door and opens it, turning the light on. And the last thing I see before she closes it is how she steps out of her pants. I don’t think she’s serious when she tells me that I can join her for her shower. I’m not sure if she is, but I don’t really think she is.

But on the off chance that she is serious…

I get off the air mattress too, and take her up on her offer.


	47. She Keeps Me Warm

_ I pushed down on the pump and squirted a glob of baby lotion into the palm of my hand as she dropped her towel. She gathered her damp hair to one side of her shoulder and I rubbed my hands together for a second before I started to massage the lotion onto her back. I wanted to kiss the base of her neck, down her shoulder blade and to her collarbone. Her skin flowed beneath my fingertips like buttermilk and I decided that was how I wanted to die; with her smooth skin gliding underneath of mine. _

_ “Did you ever think we’d be doing this?” she asked me just as I finished counting the brown beauty marks on her back. Her voice filled the small bathroom the same way the steam from the shower filled it just moments ago. _

_ “Doing what?” I ran my fingers through her hair then pumped more lotion into my hand. _

_ “This.” _

_ She leaned against the toilet and rested between my legs with her knees bent and pulled up. My own hair dripped down my back and the knot I tied in my towel to keep it up started to come undone. When I leaned forward just a bit, I noticed how her towel was draped loosely around her waist and not really covering much except for her upper thighs. She was comfortable enough to be around me naked, and so I let my towel drop too. _

_ There was something about that moment I found special; more special than any other moment. _

_ Her slippery skin was pressed against mine and we were two bodies, naked and close. I felt like my soul was as bare as I was and in that moment, I knew that I would never be that close to anybody else in my life. _

_ “If you’re asking me if I ever thought that I’d be putting lotion on you after we got out of the shower then the answer is no,” I said. “Turn your head.” _

_ She shifted herself slightly to the side and allowed me to put lotion onto her shoulders next. She had three more brown flecks on her left shoulder and one the size of a pea on her right one. Her skin was sunkissed and naturally tan, glowing like diamonds were embedded inside of her underneath the fluorescent bathroom light. It was the first time I’d ever gotten a really good look at her without clothes on, and she had the most beautiful body I’d ever seen, I was sure of it then. _

_ The middle of her back caved inwards, then curved back out as it led down to her butt. She had bones that protruded from her shoulder blades and hair that went naturally wavy when it got wet and came down to rest around her chest. When she was sitting, she had three very slight folds in her stomach, but I could still see her navel; deep enough to make for a perfect belly piercing if she wanted it, but still shallow enough that I could see inside it. She moved her hair to the middle of her back when I was rubbing her shoulders, and the perfection didn’t stop at her stomach. It crept all the way up to her chest with the way her boobs sat upright and straight; perky even without a bra. They were nothing like mine. They were big enough to have a decent cup underneath but not so big that they hung down low. They suited her body and when I looked at them, I thought “why wouldn’t she have perfect boobs?” Ones that sit up high on her chest with the perfect nipple-to-areola ratio, complete with yet another beauty mark just off the side of the left one. She has the most perfect body, why would her boobs be any exception? _

_ I grabbed the brush off the back of the toilet seat and started dragging it through my hair when I was done lathering her with lotion and admiring how perfect she was. She stood up from the ground and draped her towel over her body again, tucking it under her shoulder. I thought that maybe she was going to put her clothes on next, but she didn’t. She stood in front of me, still naked, and held her hand out. _

_ “Here, let me,” she said. _

_ I handed her the brush and she stood to the side of me and took over brushing my wet hair with very precise, downward strokes. She hovered over me the same way I hovered over her while I was lotioning her down, but I felt differently about it than she did. My towel hung down over the sides of the toilet and I was exposed again, just free for her to look at my pale white skin and less-than-ideal body. I crossed my legs to cover myself and folded my arms across my chest because I just wasn’t as free about it as Rachel was. _

_ “You have such pretty hair,” she brushed it down to the middle of my back and a chill shot up my spine. _

_ “Yeah right,” I mumbled and let my head go to whichever side she wanted as she brushed. “It’s super thin. I wish my hair was thick like yours.” _

_ “It’s beautiful,” she adjusted her towel and parted my hair to one side as she continued. “It’s not just one boring color. It’s a lot of different colors. It’s… it’s blonde and then it’s brown… maybe a little red tinge if you look at it a certain way in a certain light.” _

_ “I know. It needs dyed again, I’ve been slacking. It’s a mess,” I squeezed my arms tighter around my chest, suddenly feeling my insecurities flooding. _

_ “Quinn, would you stop it? Just take the compliment. Just say ‘thank you, Rachel’ and stop talking. You’re literally the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, you don’t have to be modest about it.” _

_ “You must not meet a lot of girls if I’m the prettiest,” I mumbled again. _

_ She sat the brush back down and put her hands on my shoulders, rubbing me very lightly with her thumbs. I felt her eyes all over me and it made me clutch my chest even closer and fold my legs even tighter. _

_ “You don’t like it when I look at you…” she said and her voice was so soft that I almost didn’t hear her. _

_ “What?” I asked, even though I heard her. _

_ “You don’t,” she spoke louder and clearer. “I noticed it. You only let me touch you if it’s dark and if it’s not dark, you cover yourself. Like you’re doing now.” _

_ “I’m not doing anything.” _

_ “You are. You did it when we were in the shower, too. I turned around to look at you and you kept covering yourself. Even when I wasn’t paying attention — when I was going down on you — you had your hands over your chest the whole time.” Her tone was more understanding than accusatory, but I still hung my head because it wasn’t something I could deny. “You know what I see when I look at you, Quinn?” _

_ “A basket case?” I shrugged. “A girl that’s slowly losing her mind?” _

_ “No,” she shook her head and stood in front of me again, and I couldn’t help but notice how her towel was rising up around her waist. She leaned forward and grabbed my hands. _

_ “What are you doing?” I snatched away from her. “Stop it, let go.” She grabbed my hands just as quickly as I pulled away. “Rachel, I’m serious! Stop it!” No matter how much I thrashed and swatted her away from me, she kept grabbing my hands and pushing them away from my chest. _

_ “No, you stop it,” she grabbed my wrists and pushed my hands to the side. “Let me look at you. Okay? Let me tell you what I see when I look at you.” _

_ With her round, chocolate brown eyes staring back at me, I gave up and let my arms hang at my sides. Something about looking into her eyes had always brought me an internal peace. It felt like maybe she had some kind of magic built up inside of her that was only ever unleashed on me. I sat in front of her, arms dangling, naked and slightly embarrassed. _

_ “I see the most perfect skin in the world,” she cupped her hand around my cheek and caressed me all the way down to my shoulder. “You have no pimples, no acne scars, no blackheads, no big pores… just… perfect skin.” She runs her fingers through my hair next. “Silky, healthy hair. No dead ends or heat damage or ponytail creases.” She stepped back like she was taking a good look at me or something. “I see lips that are perfect for kissing, and hips that are perfect for grabbing. __And a _ ** _great _ ** _ ass, by the way. I mean, great. It’s the kind of ass I drool over and do squats to achieve.”_

_ “You’re such a loser,” I giggled and shook my head. _

_ “Maybe,” she shrugged. “But I’m a loser who hates that my girlfriend won’t even let me look at her. Even though I think she is the perfect thing in the world.” She rested her two fingers underneath my chin and lifted my head until I was looking her in the eye. “Look. I know you have problems with the way you view yourself. And I know these problems probably stem back to your dad and they’re things that I probably can’t even help you with. I know this. I know you have body image issues. But if there’s any chance that I can alleviate any of it just by me telling you how perfect you are to me? I’ll do it every single day. You are perfect to me, Quinn Fabray. You are perfect and you are beautiful. And that’s all I see when I look at you.” _

_ “...Thank you, Rachel.” _

_ She tilted her head and leaned down to kiss me and I lifted my head up to kiss her too, and then we — _

I feel the buzzing of my phone shaking the bed before I actually hear it, which brings me to that hazy state between sleep and consciousness. It buzzes again, and that’s when my eyes start to flutter open. I know it’s not the feeling of my alarm jolting me awake because when my alarm goes off, it just buzzes nonstop but this vibrating is off and on, like it’s ringing or a dozen text messages are coming in or something.

For the past two days, all I’ve been dreaming about is me and Rachel sitting down with each other and bearing our souls after we got out of the shower that night. The first night I dreamt of it, I thought that I was going to dream about the sex and wake up needing to change my underwear because the sex was so hot that night that I keep having flashbacks at the most inconvenient times. I have flashbacks of the way I had to grab onto the railing inside the shower to keep from moaning too loud and then I start hearing the way Rachel sounded when she was moaning my name and I get all hot and wound up again. I have yet to have a wet dream about it but I know it’s coming and all it’s doing is making me want her all over again.

Anyway, my phone finally stopped buzzing and I finally feel awake enough, so I pull it off the charger, yawn, then open it up with a very lazy thumb punching in my passcode.

And as soon as I open it, it’s easy to see exactly why the constant vibrating woke me up. It’s like a never-ending stream of text messages, some I didn’t even see before I fell asleep last night...

**New Text Message**

**Monday, November 11**

**12:01 a.m.**

**FRANNIE: **Happy Birthday, Little Luce! Miss You And Love You And Call Me Later When You Are Out Of School! Love You So Much Sissy!!!

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**12:05 a.m.**

**MERCEDES: **Ur sleeping and I’ll see u in the morning but happy birthday quinn! Love u so much ur my best friend in the world!!!

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**12:07 a.m.**

**TINA: **Happy birthday Quinn!!!!

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**12:15 a.m.**

**RACHEL: **I wanted to be the 1st one to tell you happy birthday but every time I tried to write out this text and send it out, I kept getting stuck on exactly what I wanted to say. I tried to have it drafted out and ready to send by midnight but I had so much I wanted to say and I kept rewording it and erasing it and ugh! So anyway. Happy birthday. I can’t even begin to explain how much you mean to me. I truly believe that I hit the jackpot when you agreed to be my girlfriend and made me the happiest girl in the world. I love you more than I ever thought was possible and I would be so lost without you. You are the one person in the world I don’t think I would ever be okay without. I can’t imagine where I would be if I never met you and you never showed me what true love is supposed to feel like. You and me have the kind of love story people make movies about! You are the most important person in my life right now and I think it’s amazing that we have one whole day to celebrate you and the person you are. Nobody knows how lucky we are to get to share the planet with you. I can’t wait to see you in school and hear everyone tell you how special you are today because you truly deserve to hear it. I love you so much, Babe :) :) :) And I am so glad to have one more rotation around the sun with you! I hope you open this up tomorrow morning and it makes you smile. See you in school and happy birthday again! Love you so much!

~ Rachel

**New Text Message**

**Monday, November 11**

**5:56 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **Happy b-day to you, twin bitch. Luv u even when I hate u girl!

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**6:04 a.m.**

**KURT: **Happy Birthday xxxx

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**6:06 a.m.**

**DADDY: **Happy 17th birthday, Lucy.

  
  


**New Text Message**

**Monday, November 11**

**6:15 a.m.**

**SHELBY: **So, a little birdy told me it’s someone’s birthday! Well happy birthday, Quinn. From me and our Beth. I hope you have a good one and eat lots of cake! You are a special girl and it is a special day.

**New Text Message**

**Monday, November 11**

**6:20 a.m.**

**FRANNIE: **Are You Up For School Yet? Text Me Before You Leave. I Want To Talk To You.

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**6:22 a.m.**

**MOM: **Happy birthday, Quinnie. You will always be my lil girl.

**New Text Message**

**Monday, November 11**

**6:22 a.m.**

**860-06: **11/11 — ATM/ACCOUNT TRANSFER

**860-06: **A payment of $300 has been transferred to your account. If you believe these changes have been made fraudulently, contact customer service at 1-800-LIMACOMMUNITYBANK. To opt out of text alerts reply STOP.

When I finally reach the end of my barrage of birthday texts, I go back to Rachel’s text so I can reply to hers first but as soon as I start to think of ways to thank her and tell her how much I love her too, I hear my bedroom door swing open. Though my back is turned to the door and I’m still trying to fully wake up, I hear various whispers behind me. 

The only thing I can actually hear and understand is when I hear them whispering “one… two… three…” behind my back and as soon as I realize exactly what is going on, I can’t roll over fast enough. I’m barely on my side when they all open their mouths and start singing, ** _“Happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you…”_ **

I yawn and then sit up, blinking a few times until my eyes go into focus and I can actually see. Mercedes holds a stack of three pancakes with a candle on top that are prepared just the way I like them; homemade with crispy edges and chocolate chips sprinkled on top instead of throughout the batter. The giant pat of butter on top is melting and rolling down the sides and the maple syrup is pooled all around the base of the plate and I’m not usually the type to eat as soon as I wake up, but I could inhale that entire plate in five seconds flat.

** _“Happy birthday dear Quuuu-innn… happy birthday to you!”_ **

“Here, now make a wish,” Mercedes holds the plate to my face and I blow out the candle with one quick breath.

“Thank you,” I tuck my hair behind my ears and look around at the way they all genuinely seem happy to have sung to me. I pick up the fork hanging on the side of the plate and cut a piece of pancake off with the side. “You really didn’t have to do this, you didn’t have to make me breakfast.”

“Of course I did,” Mrs. Jones sits down on the bed next to me and sweeps my hair away from my forehead. “It’s your birthday,” she presses her lips to my temple. “Happy birthday, baby.”

In all honesty, I forgot that it was my birthday.

Okay, it’s not that I forgot because I didn’t actually completely forget. I just kind of didn’t remember it before I fell asleep last night and I had such a busy weekend that I didn’t really pay attention. My friends threw me that surprise sleepover on Friday and I know that was for my birthday, but it seems like Friday was such a long time ago. Saturday I was busy with therapy and then I watched Beth for a few hours, who is sick all over again. Yesterday I was supposed to just relax but then I remembered I had homework and Rachel came over and we ended up watching a movie and long story short, I fell asleep last night and forgot that when I woke up today, I was going to be another year older.

“Do you want presents now or later?” Mr. Jones holds up two small pink gift bags as I swallow a lump of pancake down my throat. “You can have them now, or you can wait until dinner tonight. Your choice.”

“Dinner?” I ask with my mouth full.

“Yeah, birthday tradition in this house,” Mercedes sits down on my bed too. “Every time it’s someone’s birthday, we go to a restaurant of their choice and have dinner. It’s just what we do.”

“So you gotta come straight home after school today, both of you. You hear?” Mrs. Jones says.

“Yes ma’am,” I dust off the last piece of my pancake platter and lick the syrup off my fingers. “I can wait until later for the presents. You guys really didn’t —“

“If you say we didn’t have to get you anything one more time, I’m gonna shake you until your head spins,” Mr. Jones hands me the two gifts even though I said I would wait. “Just open them. The pink one is from me and ‘Trice, the white one is from ‘Cedes.”

“Okay.” I pull the tissue paper out of Mercedes’ gift first and then blindly reach inside for whatever is inside the bag. When I first pull it out, all I see is the shiny silver metal lining with the pink and purple glittery heart-shaped cutouts. It’s not until I see the stand that I realize I have it backwards, so I flip it around and it’s probably the most beautiful and meaningful gift I’ve ever received.

The frame is a smooth, shiny silver and the hearts around the perimeter of the frame are pink, purple and white. Across the top in white cursive letters, the words “best friends” are written and inside the frame is a picture of me, her, Rachel and Tina. It’s a selfie from the homecoming game and Rachel’s tongue is sticking out, Tina’s smiling with her eyes closed dramatically, Mercedes’ eyes are crossed, and I’m smiling normally because I didn’t know they were making funny faces. It’s the most perfect picture I’ve ever seen in my life. The concession stand is in the background and the overhead lights make us all look our most glamorous selves. And I always talked about how I wanted to freeze that moment and remember it for the rest of my life. It was the moment I felt like my life was finally coming back to me and I didn’t want to forget it. Because I know that someday these will all become memories and memories fade. When I’m older, I probably won’t remember the game under the lights where I laughed with my friends and felt infinite. I might not remember the way I feel when I come home after a long day and hear Mrs. Jones singing in the kitchen, or I might forget how it felt to be part of something that is bigger than me. But here, in the snapshot of me and my friends — the closest people in the world to me — that moment is going to be there forever. And I won’t forget it.

“Thank you,” I hold back tears when I lean forward and give Mercedes an awkward side-hug. “It’s perfect, thank you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Quinn,” she pats my shoulder and I really do love how Mercedes just gets me. She just knows me for who I am and knows exactly what to say and what to do and what kind of gifts I like. 

Her gift probably didn’t cost much, but it’s the kind of gift I’ve always wanted. Every year for my birthday, it’s just been one big expensive thing after the next. My fifth birthday, Dad surprised me with a pair of 20-karat diamond earrings. Then on my tenth, he got me my first cell phone. My thirteenth was a nose job and my sixteenth was a car. I’m used to really expensive and really lavish gifts but my parents — Judy and Russel, I mean — could have kept all of it for one meaningful gift. That’s all I ever wanted, something to show me that they actually knew who I was as a human.

“Here you go, baby,” Mrs. Jones nudges the other bag to me. “Go on and open up me and Jared’s.”

I pluck the tissue paper out of that bag as well, then pull a small white box from the bottom of it. The box has “Pandora” written on it so I already know it’s a piece of jewelry, but I wonder which kind. It could be earrings, it could be a necklace or it could be a bracelet. I’m a little eager then I’m willing to admit, so I just pry the box apart and look inside it and Mercedes’ gift has some stiff competition in the “most beautiful” department.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as I hold it up to my face to get a closer look. “It’s beautiful…”

“You ain’t gotta wear it ‘til you’re comfortable, okay?” Mrs. Jones starts to explain and I don’t know what the hell she means. _ Of course I’m going to wear it immediately! It’s beautiful! _“We was just thinking that… well you know that… that we love you and…”

“What she’s trying to say is that we accept you,” Mr. Jones speaks up because he’s better with words than his wife. “We accept you and we don’t ever want you to be ashamed of who you are. We saw it in the store while we were looking at what to get you and it just seemed perfect, I guess.”

“You don’t have to wear it. We ain’t gonna be offended if you don’t. But it’s part of you and who you is as a person and we don’t never want you to hide it. Not no more.” Mrs. Jones shakes her head and I think I might actually cry because my mother and my father would never do anything like this for me. Ever.

“It’s beautiful,” I say again and start to take it out of its packaging. “I’m never going to take it off. I promise.”

I take the bracelet out of its box and wrap it around my wrist so that it dangles a bit, but is still pretty snug. When it’s on me, I hold my arm out so I can see the way it looks on my wrist and I think it looks pretty damn perfect.

The band of it is pure sterling silver and it’s so shiny that it hurts to look at it for too long, but the most beautiful part of it isn’t in the material. No. The main focus is the colored diamonds that are laid into the band that goes all the way around my wrist. In the middle of the bracelet, there is a very tiny silver heart charm that dangles lower than the rest of the bracelet. The diamonds sparkle all the colors of the rainbow and the heart charm in the middle has a rainbow in the middle of it as well. And maybe it is a big step to wear a pride bracelet, maybe I am a little bit unsettled by the idea. But it’s perfect for me and perfect for the way I don’t want to hide who I am anymore.

“I love it so much, thank you,” I hug both Mr. and Mrs. Jones in one sweep, and they’re both very silent when they hug me back but that’s okay because they don’t need to say anything. I know that they mean to tell me how very welcome I am with their silence.

“Okay you two,” Mrs. Jones mumbles as we break out of the hug. “Get dressed. Dressed and ready for school, we already wasted fifteen minutes. You’re gonna be late.”

* * *

If I have to text or tell anyone else the words “thank you” today, I am going to scream at the top of my lungs and lock myself in my bedroom until this day is over. I haven’t even gotten to first period yet and I’ve already said “thank you” more times than I’ve said in my entire seventeen years alive. I don’t even know half the people who were been wishing me happy birthday in the hallway and in the cafeteria for breakfast. It got to the point where I had to literally look down and make sure I wasn’t wearing anything on my clothing that says “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!” because literally every person I came across has been saying it to me and it’s a good thing that I dressed nicely because I almost didn’t.

I had a pair of dark jeans and a white and red striped t-shirt in my hands to put on today because me and Mercedes were running late from the birthday festivities this morning. But then fifteen minutes before we had to be out the door, I decided that I probably shouldn’t look like an actual bum for my birthday and I found a plain white dress at the back of my closet. It’s white and it’s flowy and it comes down to my knees and there’s a bow tied at the side. It’s not my best Quinn Fabray outfit and I doubt that I’ll get any compliments on it today, but I just threw a peach-colored knit jacket over my shoulders and put on brown wedges and it saved me from looking like a mess on my birthday.

Me and Mercedes only caught the tail end of breakfast because we were running so late, so I haven’t really seen Rachel yet and even though it hasn’t even been a full 24 hours since I’ve seen her, I kind of miss her already. I think maybe I miss her because she’s the only person who can take my mind off of what it’s been on since the moment I opened up my birthday texts.

_ Happy birthday, Quinnie. You will always be my lil girl. _

That was it. There wasn’t anything more than that, and there wasn’t anything less. Just a plain and simple “happy birthday” with a $300 payment attached to it and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I really don’t. The money was a really nice touch and it’ll keep me from having to ask the Joneses for anything which is great considering that Rachel’s birthday is coming up and so is Christmas. But it’s kind of hard not to think about how she transferred money over to me instead of saying anything nice, like that she was going to come get me or come see me for my birthday. I mean, she _ is _my mom, isn’t she? Shouldn’t she come and see me for my birthday? Or take me out to celebrate?

_ Maybe she really doesn’t care about me anymore. It’s nice that she didn’t forget my birthday and it’s nice that she sent me something instead of nothing… _

_ I guess maybe I thought this whole thing would be harder than it’s been for her. I’m probably wrong and probably a little bit crazy to feel this way, but I kind of wish that she would have fought for me, I guess. There’s no place in the world I’d rather be than where I am with the Joneses, but I do wish Mom would have fought a little harder to keep me or made more of an effort to see me. I didn’t expect her to throw me away like garbage. If it were Beth and someone was trying to take her away from me, I’d fight it tooth and nail. Even if where she was going was better for her than being with me, I would still fight it. And let her know that I love her enough to let her go. _

I’m going to try really hard not to be sad today because it’s my birthday and yeah, my mom only sent me money and gave me a very generic birthday wish, but I have nothing to be unhappy about. I have nothing to be unhappy about and everything to be excited about because I’m surrounded by people who actually care and the time to be sad and wallow in my feelings about Mom will be tomorrow when I talk to Bailey.

So just like that, I shake the thoughts from my head and turn the knob on my locker dial to the right combination of numbers. _ All I have to do is get through school and glee club rehearsals and then I’m free to go home and celebrate with the people who actually care about me. It’s all so simple. I have nine hours and then I can do whatever I want to do. Just nine hours. _

As I slide my organic chem book and the novel we’ve been reading for English off the top of my locker shelf, I watch a pair of dark red Toms approach me and an easy smile spreads across my lips when they stop right next to my brown wedges. When I close my locker, my smile grows just a little wider because it’s her and she’s here and she’s perfect and we’ve been together for a little while now, but my heart still skips a beat when I see her for the first time in a long time.

“So your read receipts are on and I can see that you’ve read my incredibly long but also insanely cheesy birthday text and while you don’t always have to respond to me, I can’t help but notice that you haven’t texted me back, so. Despite the fact that I may have made a terrible fool of myself by being so disgustingly mushy when you clearly are not a very mushy person at times, I am demanding an answer. Was it too cheesy? Did I completely turn you off? Should I have just left it at a simple ‘happy birthday?’ You can’t leave me hanging.” She rambles, standing in front of me with her hands behind her back and her feet rocking inside of her bright red shoes. Did I mention how beautiful she is?

Because she is. She is absolutely stunning. She parted her on the side today instead of at her crown like she usually does, and she kept her bangs pulled away from her forehead today. She must have gotten up a little early because her hair has very light curls at the ends to give it some body instead of wearing it pin straight like she usually does. Her long-sleeved shirt is white with multicolored polka dots all over it and her skirt is red and Rachel usually dresses nicely, I admit that. Her style isn’t necessarily my style, but she knows how to put an outfit together quite well and she always looks so put together. But I catch myself thinking that maybe she put in a little extra effort today just because it’s my birthday.

“I got your message as soon as I woke up,” I shift my books underneath my arm and secure them against my hip. “And I loved it, babe. Thank you. But I was too busy to reply. As soon as I started typing something out, Mercedes and her parents came in to wake me up and we had pancakes and opened gifts and then I had to get ready for school and rush here so we didn’t get tardy slips and I just didn’t have time. But I loved it. It was super cheesy and extra mushy.”

“Super cheesy?” she raises her eyebrows up at me.

“The cheesiest.”

“Like… Swiss cheese, cheddar cheese or Gorgonzola cheese?”

“Heavy mozzarella.” 

“And mushy, right?” She narrows her eyes at me for the joke and I don’t think I’ve ever loved her so much. I feel that way a lot sometimes. Sometimes I think that this is the most I’ll ever love her and then she does something that makes me love her even more. It’s cyclical. “I tried to go extra thick oatmeal mushy, just to appease you.”

“Oh, it was oatmeal alright. It was maple and brown sugar oatmeal. Made my teeth hurt, that’s how sweet and mushy it was.”

_ I wish I could kiss her in this hallway. With a hundred people swirling around us trying to get their books for first period and trying to function at this hour of the morning, I want to stand in the middle of this place and kiss her. I wish things weren’t so hard for us. I wish we could be girlfriend and girlfriend in peace. _

“Well get ready, Quinn Fabray,” she takes a step closer to me and flashes me a smile with those perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. _ She melts me… _“Because your day is about to get that much sweeter.”

“Rachel, what are you —“

She finally takes her hands from behind her back and resting in her palm is a cupcake. It has a pink liner wrapped around it and the frosting is pink with purple sprinkles and a white chocolate “Q” to top it off.

“Made especially for you by yours truly, one Rachel Berry.”

“You are such a little loser,” I shake my head at her with a smile as I take it because it does look pretty damn tasty and I can’t believe she made it. Although, there’s not really much of anything she _ can’t _do, so I guess a cupcake looking as perfect as this one doesn’t really surprise me.

“Eat it,” she nudges me with her elbow. “It’s your favorite. It’s vanilla on vanilla, but I just dyed it pink. And it might be cold because I kept it in the fridge all night, but I think it’s okay.”

“You made me _ one _cupcake?” I peel the paper off the rim. “You made an entire batch of cupcake batter and a bowl of icing for one cupcake?”

“Of course I didn’t do that!” she hangs her head in mock embarrassment, then looks at me through her eyelashes. “The rest of the dozen is in my locker. I’m saving them for glee club. But yours is the only really pretty one.”

“You are incredible, Rachel.” I break the cupcake in half instead of diving in and taking a bite right off the top like I want to. I break it in half equally, then offer the second half to her. “Here, you have some too. Cheers?”

She takes the other half from my hand and presses it up against my half. “Cheers.”

I watch her stuff the entire half into her mouth before I take a single bite out of mine. I wish everyone around us would just disappear. I wish that by some miracle, an asteroid would come down and wipe out the entire population of McKinley High School except for me and Rachel. I wish we could be alone in between these hallways and I could be free to look at her, smiling like she’s the only thing in the world as she stands in front of me with pink frosting all over her lips. Just for today, I would be content if she and I were the only two people on the planet. Just for today, I would be content to walk around with her hand inside mine without worrying about judgment.

“You really put your foot in this,” I nod and lick the frosting off my thumb. “It’s really good, babe. Thanks.”

“I think the fridge added a nice touch,” she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and talks with a mouth so full that little cupcake bits fly out. She missed a single spot at the corner of her mouth when she wiped and it’s all I can focus on.

“You got a little…” I point on my own face to where hers is at, and she licks at the corner but still misses it. “No, still there.” I keep pointing and she keeps licking. “Still there. Here, let me…”

I swipe my index finger across her lips and keep it there, halfway forgetting that we’re not alone and also halfway not caring. Rachel reaches up and holds my hand against her face and I just have to rub my thumb across her cheek because there are times like this where I forget that she’s real. She looks so beautiful standing in front of me and she’s smiling at me the way I’ve always dreamt about her smiling at me and it just doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem real unless I touch her.

But then I slowly remember that we’re not alone and people are around us and probably watching, so then I go to take my hand away from her cheek but she locks her hand around mine to hold it there.

“People are staring,” I whisper to her, not really knowing if they actually are staring but just kinda assuming.

She lets go of my hand and takes a step backwards, away from me. Her eyes are low again and I can feel the shame driving a wedge between the both of us and I just don’t think that it’s fair. I think we deserve at least one day where we don’t have to hide. I’m sort of expecting the both of us to part ways, because first period starts in a couple minutes and we don’t have the same classes this year. So I’m a little surprised when Rachel picks her head back up and looks me dead in my eyes. I can always tell when she’s about to say something because she gets this look on her face where her eyes focus in on something and her mouth turns to a solid line and her eyebrows kind of furrow. Again, I’m not surprised when she actually opens her mouth.

“...So what?” she whispers in the same tone I whispered to her in a moment ago. And before I can ask her what she means by “so what”, she’s raising up on her tiptoes and turning her head to the side and I don’t have time to push her away — if that’s even what I want to do — before her lips are pressed up against mine. Right here. In the middle of the hallway with the entire junior and senior class present. It’s the quickest kiss we’ve ever shared; even quicker than the first time we ever did. Her lips are on mine for a tenth of a second before they’re pulled away and if anyone blinked, they might have missed it.

And all I can do is stand in front of her and look at her like I’m stupid and don’t even know what the hell she just did.

“Let them look,” she shrugs her shoulders and grins at me. “...See you later?”

“...Yeah…” I croak.

“Happy birthday,” she says.

She turns and walks away. Just like that. Like whatever just happened wasn’t as important as it actually was. I mean, it was important… wasn’t it? When she walks away, I don’t notice anyone stopping and gawking at us and I don’t notice anyone pointing and laughing. But she just _ kissed _me in front of the whole school. And it wasn’t even a kiss that we could explain away by saying that it was friendly. It wasn’t a hand kiss or a cheek kiss or a forehead kiss. It was a kiss on the lips like all couples do and I can’t believe she actually did that…

I adjust the grip I have on my books and walk up the hall to first period but all I can think is…

_ Oh shit. _

* * *

_ November 11 _

_ I couldn’t wait to get to study hall today just so I could write everything down in here. I started to think about maybe waiting until tomorrow to say anything about today because I see Bailey tomorrow and sometimes if I write everything down before I talk to her about it, I forget what it was that I wanted to talk to her about and then things never get talked about but in this case, I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait and I don’t think I’ll forget anything about today before my session with her tomorrow. _

_ Rachel kissed me at school. She kissed me in the middle of the hallway with everyone looking and everyone seeing and yet… nobody has said anything about it. _

_ I walked into first period thinking that someone was going to comment about what they just saw us do, so I held my breath as I sat down and opened up my book. But my teacher just started the lesson and nobody even looked at me. A few people told me happy birthday, but that was it. _

_ I thought first period might have been a fluke, so I kept my guard up as I walked to second period and held my breath again as I sat down. But it was the same thing. A few people told me happy birthday, I sat down, opened my book and that was the end of it. _

_ Even at lunch when me and Rachel sat with each other after the big kiss in the hallway, nobody came up to us and said anything. Not even Finn, which I was wholeheartedly expecting. Finn’s not exactly the kind of guy who would take losing Rachel with a grain of salt. I mean, sometimes it seems like he’s a good guy and on the whole, I think he really is. He’s probably the best guy in McKinley and if Rachel was going to date anyone besides me, I’d want it to be him because he seems to actually care about her sometimes. But he’s not the type to just lie down and let someone “steal” his girl away so quickly and I really thought he’d make a huge deal about me being the one to do it. Rachel being bisexual might not be as big a shock to everyone as I thought it would be, but it would definitely be a shock to him. _

_ But even Finn hasn’t said a single word. Nobody has. And in a way, it makes me feel really bad for the kids who haven’t been so lucky. _

_ Lately, Mercedes has been trying to teach me about the differences between her and me and she’s been working on explaining something called white privilege because apparently, it exists and no matter how many times I try to tell her that I don’t care about skin color, she tells me that I need to care. So I’m trying. I’m listening very intently when she explains things and I’m being open minded and I’m actually learning a few things that make a whole lot of sense. Like, for example, why people stared at us when we were in JC Penney last month and the security guard asked to see her receipt but not mine. She’s teaching me things like that and I do think that it’s making me a better, more well-rounded human. But later on tonight when everything is all said and done and the birthday festivities are over, I’m going to go into her room, sit down on her bed, and ask her if how people are treating me and Rachel has anything to do with my privilege, white or not. _

_ I’m not sure if it relates in any way, but I can’t stop thinking about the way Kurt and Blaine and even Karofsky have been treated by the blatant homophobes in this school. _

_ Just last week, Kurt was shoved into a locker for wearing a kilt. Blaine opened up his locker and found tampons stuffed inside. And even though everyone said they would do better after Karofsky killed himself, nobody actually does. Karofsky is nothing but a picture hanging up in the trophy case and a football jersey in the locker room. Everyone promised to do better for him, but nobody actually cares. _

_ My point is that any kid who has had to come out between the walls of McKinley has been put through absolute hell and even though it’s barely been four hours since me and Rachel sort of came out, there has been nothing but people ignoring it and acting like it didn’t happen, which is better than being bullied for it. We’ve been luckier in four hours than some of the gay kids have been in three years and I’m grateful for it, but I’m wondering how that could possibly be. _

_ Maybe it’s easier for two girls to be gay than for two boys to be gay. Maybe it’s easier for two girls kissing to be perceived as friendly instead of romantic. Or maybe me and Rachel are lucky and for the first time in school history, everyone is learning to only give a damn about themselves. Either way, I feel bad for Kurt and bad for Blaine and guilty that my experience in coming out has been so drastically different. If I had known that coming out with Rachel was going to be so easy, I might have done it the day after she admitted she remembered kissing me after Puck’s party. _

_ I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. _

_ I’ve been sleeping well at night, I’ve been laughing without feeling guilty, been crying but not from sadness. I see Puck in the hallways and it’s easier to turn and look the other way, I think about Beth and smile instead of cry because even though I miss her, I know that I get to see her. I’ve been feeling lighter, more secure in my relationship with Rachel and more stable in the way I think. Everything seems like it’s all getting better and I’m excited for it, but I keep feeling like something else is about to happen and I’m walking around on eggshells and waiting for it go all go wrong. _

_ Mom sent me a birthday gift and I’ve been working up the courage to tell her thank you all day, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to say thank you for the money, which I don’t really need. Mr. and Mrs. Jones take complete care of me and if I need anything, I know that I can just ask. The money is going to sit there until Rachel’s birthday and then until Christmas but even then, I’m only going to use it because I can. Not because I need it. Shelby pays me for watching Beth so I have my own income, even if it’s only 50 dollars a week. She sent me money for my birthday. Nothing else, just money. She didn’t even ask me how I was doing or if I needed anything. She didn’t tell me that she missed me and that she loved me. She just said happy birthday and that I would always be her little girl but I’m not. I’m not her little girl anymore and I haven’t been her little girl since I got pregnant and I don’t know if she realizes that. I don’t know if she ever will. I think in her mind, I’ll always be the little girl with pigtails and crying because she fell off her bike and maybe she’s not ready to accept that yet. Maybe that’s why she stopped loving me. _

_ We haven’t spoken voice-to-voice or face-to-face since before sectionals, when she tried to take me home. That was the last time I spoke to my mother, the last time I heard her voice. And even though I don’t wish I was back home for anything in the world, I miss her. I miss her so much. I miss the way she’d call me Quinnie and rub my head when I had a bad day at school. I even miss the way she would yell at me for leaving the empty milk carton in the fridge and not cleaning my hair out of the tub. I miss how she used to peek inside my room every night to make sure I was still alive, even though she was only doing it because she was scared I’d overdose again. I feel terrible because it feels like by missing her, I’m saying that the Joneses aren’t good enough and I don’t mean that at all. Mr. and Mrs. Jones are absolutely wonderful and I love them with everything inside of me. But she’s my mom. She’s my mother, the one I look like, the one I grew inside of and grew up with. And she’s not always horrible. Sometimes she’s really good. Sometimes she’s really, really good. And I miss her like crazy. _

_ It’s scary how she could just turn her love for me off. She just woke up one day and decided to try and get me back home with her and when I told her that I wasn’t coming, that was it. It was like she had a switch inside of her all along, one that she could turn off and on at the drop of a hat. She turned it off when I got pregnant and she let dad throw me out, then turned it back on when she caught him having his 342nd affair. Now it’s off again and I think it’s scary how she can just take her love away from me just like that. _

_ It does go both ways, I guess. I mean, I could be the one to call her. I could pick up the phone or get into my car and drive across town to visit her and tell her that I still love her and I hope she loves me too. It would be easy for me to make some kind of effort. I know the Joneses both said that it’s not my job to mend the relationship because I’m her child, but maybe it is my fault a little bit. Maybe it is my responsibility to mend the relationship when I’m the reason it’s broken in the first place. _

_ Maybe after we get home from my birthday dinner tonight, I’ll sit down and call her. I’ll do it in private so I don’t upset Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I’ll do it in private and I _

My phone buzzes and makes the pocket of my knit jacket shake. I think about ignoring it for a moment, because I’m sure that it’s just another one of the million birthday messages I received between texts, Facebook and Instagram. But it’s never going to stop buzzing unless I clear the notification, so I’ll just clear it and then I’ll put it on “do not disturb” and finish my journaling before study hall is over.

I open my phone and punch my passcode in with my thumb, and sure enough, it’s a text from Mercedes. She already wished me happy birthday a dozen times today so if she’s texting me again, maybe it’s important. I glance up to make sure that Mrs. Wallace isn’t looking, then sneak to look at my phone.

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**12:02 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **Did u see this???

**LINK — Jacob Ben Israel on Instagram: “McKinley’s New IT Couple!” Click to open up in Instagram app >>  
  
**

I glance up at Mrs. Wallace again and when I see that she’s still not paying attention, I tap on the link and wait for it to load on Instagram. When the little loading icon finally comes full circle, the picture post becomes clear and I feel my heart stop beating for a second. And my blood runs cold. And I feel like I might throw up.

There it is, a picture of me and Rachel kissing by my locker. It’s a little blurry so if I need to, I’ll just lie and say that it’s not us. Just because the two people in the picture have blonde hair and brown hair doesn’t mean it’s us. And just because the blonde is wearing a white dress with a peach jacket and the brunette is wearing a polka dotted shirt and a red skirt doesn’t mean it’s Rachel. They can’t prove anything! _ Oh no… they took a picture? Oh no, this is it… this is it. This is when it all falls apart. That other shoe? It just fell. It fell down right on my head and I’m sure that this is where it all ends… _

I want to look away and close my phone and start the lie that it’s not me, but I can’t. It’s like an addiction, the way I keep reading…

**212 likes**

**jacobbenisrael_gossip **Spotted this morning the fallen former reigning queen of WMHS, Miss Quinn Fabray kissing self-proclaimed drama queen Rachel Berry by the lockers. Friendly birthday kiss or McKinley’s new “it”‘couple? You decide

I tap on the picture to see who he tagged because even though 212 people already have seen it, I just want to know if he tagged all 212 of those people. So I tap on the picture and only two black bubbles pop up, only two people tagged: **omgitsrachelb ** and **xquinnfabray** . _ He only tagged me and Rachel… _

And I know I should turn away and stop looking now, before I see anything that could potentially ruin my entire birthday, but like I said… it’s like an addiction. I can’t look away, so I tap to read all 165 comments next.

**santanalopezzzz **So hot

**KurtCouture **It couple for sure!

**mercedes_jones1 **Definitely the new it couple

**mattdogrutherford **Why is the picture so shitty. U had 1 job

**blainesinger **For sure the new it couple. Never looked better and never looked Gayer. Happy bday Quinn!

**tinalovesyou **My fav girls!!!!

**omgitsrachelb **Haha. I say “it” couple for sure. Lol.

**brittanyandlordtubbs **Not hotter than me but definitely hot

**Abrams.Artie **Woooooooo

**puckster **Damn. Anyone know where 2 find a video?

**changcommamike **It couple!

**Sam_IAm **It

**motttttta **It couple!!!!

**laurenxzizes **They're it. For shoooo

_ Not a single negative comment in sight…? Granted, the ones I read are mostly from my friends and from some of the people I would have expected nothing less that the utmost support from. _But even as I scroll down a little further and read more comments from people I don’t know, the most negative thing I come across is the word “ew” written a few times and even then… that’s mild compared to what it could be… is everyone seriously this supportive?

_ Is everyone this supportive or are they just being nice because it’s my birthday? _

Either way, I feel so much different after seeing hardly anything except for positive comments. Even if there are a few out there that say “ew”, there’s more positive than negative and that makes me feel like I can breathe again. It’s like I was walking around holding in a deep breath ever since me and Rachel started dating. I took a deep breath when we officially started calling each other girlfriend and girlfriend, and I’ve been holding that deep breath in ever since. Now that it’s out and the whole school knows and nobody seems to be terrorizing us, I can let that breath out and breathe again. 

I exit out of my Instagram app when I reach the end of the comments, but I don’t lock my phone. Instead, I tap on my messages app and scroll through the threads from today until I find Rachel’s.

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 11**

**12:10 p.m.**

**ME: **don’t know if we’re the new “it” couple. but you’re definitely my “it” girl. i love you and thank you for making me brave.

**New iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 11**

**12:15 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Come down to the auditorium.

**RACHEL: **I have a birthday surprise for you :)

With that, I finally lock my phone and slip it back into my side pocket. I close my journal and stuff it back into my bookbag, then gather my pencils and my school books up too before I raise my hand.

And as soon as Mrs. Wallace tells me that I can go, I’m out the door and on my way to the auditorium.

She’s probably going to sing to me in the auditorium which is fine, actually. I told her yesterday that I don’t want her to sing to me and I want her to save her voice for glee club later because we’re working on stuff for regionals, but she insisted that she sings to me for my birthday. Deep down somewhere, I think I actually went her to sing to me. The whole idea of being serenaded seems incredibly cheesy and super corny and I’m not into that kind of stuff. But I think deep down somewhere, I do kind of want her to sing to me and I’m glad that she didn’t listen to me when I told her not to.

I stop at my locker on my way to the auditorium so I can put my books back.

_ I wonder what she’s going to sing. I hope it’s something by Madonna because her voice always sounds so regal and pretty when she belts out a Madonna tune. Plus, I love Madonna. Or no, maybe she’ll sing something from a Broadway musical of some sort. She sounds the best when she’s belting out a show tune. Maybe there’s a show tune with a really pretty song about love that I don’t know about. Or no, maybe she wrote me a song! She always says that she wouldn’t be any good at writing songs because she’s not the greatest at poetry but I think she could do it. Maybe she wrote me my own beautiful ballad. Something like A Million Reasons by Gaga or Shallow from A Star Is Born. Yeah, maybe she wrote me a beautiful ballad that she’s going to sing at the piano. And she taught the song to the entire glee club and when I walk into the auditorium, everyone will be there and they’ll all be waiting to sing to me. I know that’s a bit of a reach, but I can dream. Can’t I? _

I yank the door to the auditorium open and look over both my shoulders just to make sure nobody is watching or sneaking anymore unauthorized pictures of me today. Once I’m in the clear, I make sure the door closes quietly behind me and hold onto the railing as I walk down the small flight of steps that lead to the rows of seats.

“Hello?” I call out just to let her know that I’m here. I hear papers rustling and feet shuffling so I know that I’m not alone and she’s in here somewhere.

I round the corner so I can see the stage and sure enough, she’s standing up on it with the piano right in the middle. And it’s just her, which puts me at ease. It would have been nice to have the entire club sing to me, but I didn’t realize how badly I wanted to be alone with her until I saw her standing there by herself. She rustles through a few pages of sheet music and doesn’t even acknowledge me, probably because she was expecting me. I hold onto the railing and jog up the steps that lead onto the stage.

“I’ve come to collect my birthday surprise. The one that I told you not to even do for me,” I lean against the piano and watch the worried look on her face. She gets a wrinkle in the middle of her forehead when something is stressing her out and I want to kiss it until it goes away. “Rachel? You okay?”

“I can’t find it!” She huffs and starts from the very beginning of her sheet music folder again: “I put it in here last night before I went to bed so I wouldn’t forget it and now it’s not here! How does it just disappear? Sheet music doesn’t just disappear!”

“Hey, relax,” I put my hand on her arm to settle her. “It’s just me. You know I don’t care if you sing me a song either way. But tell me what you’re looking for. I’ll help you find it.”

“No, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise! I had it all planned out, I was going to sing it and then I was going to give you the present and it was going to be beautiful and it —“

I interrupt her frantic freak out by kissing her. It’s a simple little kiss, not much emotion behind it and no open mouths or tongue. Just my lips right up against hers and our noses smashing together because I didn’t tilt my head before I leaned in. Just a short, sweet, chaste little kiss to calm her down.

“Okay?” I ask when I pull away, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Now relax. You’re too wound up, you’re too panicked. It doesn’t have to be perfect. It’s okay if it’s not perfect.”

“Okay,” she sighs and closes her music folder.

“Why don’t you start with the gift and then come back to looking?”

She nods her head at me, then kneels down on the floor next to the piano and digs inside of her purse. I hate the way I think sometimes because while I do think that it’s very important to respect Rachel and not objectify her, I always catch myself staring at her and thinking about all the things I want to do to her. Like now, for example. She’s kneeling down and looking for my birthday gift inside of her purse but all I can think about is how I can see her underwear up underneath her skirt. They’re yellow and completely lace and they’d rip so easily if I had the chance to rip them. I could put her on top of this piano and tear them off of her and have her singing in a different way. Yeah, we’d be expelled for sure if someone came in here and caught me with my face between her legs during school hours, but it’s my birthday. It’s my birthday and the cupcake she made me earlier isn’t even half as delicious as she tastes. God, I know I sound horrible. I should respect her and not think about her like that, but I can’t help it. She does things to me. Unholy things.

Just as I feel like I’m about to start having another inconvenient flashback to the sex we had at my sleepover, she stands upright and has a small jewelry box in her hand. _ Thank god for that. Because if she hadn’t found it when she did, I probably wouldn’t have been able to control myself with her. _

“So I thought about getting you a ring,” she tucks the pieces of her bangs that are trying to come out behind her ears and hands me the box. “I saw a really pretty one at the jewelry store and I thought that your finger would look really pretty with it on but then I didn’t want you to think that I was giving you a promise ring or trying to make you commit to me or anything like that because we’re only sixteen and now seventeen and a ring like that could have too many emotions and preconceived notions attached to it, so then I thought about maybe a necklace. I noticed that you broke your cross and you haven’t worn a necklace since then, so I just…”

She holds her breath as I flip the lid of the box open. _ Oh my goodness… she didn’t… it’s perfect… _

“I thought maybe you could wear it. I know it’s probably stupid and also a little egocentric to think that you’d want to wear me around your neck, but maybe it could be cute? If you don’t like it, I kept the receipt and I can always exchange it for something a little more conspicuous and a lot less in your face,” she continues. 

“Stop it,” I mumble and work on taking it out of the box so I can put it on. “I love it. Help me put it on.”

“Really?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Yes. I’m going to wear it, so help me put it on,” I turn around and pull my hair to one side of my neck so she can clasp it for me. She buckles it around my neck with ease and when I turn back around to face her, I look down to make sure it’s dangling low and even. It’s so beautiful. It’s so simple, with a plain gold chain and a gold “R” charm that’s so little you have to squint to know that it’s an “R.” But it’s so elegant and beautiful and something that only she and I would understand. “How’s it look?”

“You make anything look great, Quinn,” she smiles at me softly, then moves her own hair out of the way so I can see her neck. “...How about mine?”

“You… what?” I take a step closer to her and squint the way you’d have to squint to make mine out. Around her neck, she is wearing the identical match to what I’m wearing, except her charm is a very tiny “Q.” I put my fingers against her charm and smile at it because I’ve never felt so… wanted in my entire life. Jessica told me once that it’s not healthy to feel like you belong to someone, and Bailey and I have been working on my possession issues as well. But in this moment, I feel like it’s okay to belong to someone. I belong to Rachel and she belongs to me and maybe it’s not healthy, but it sure is beautiful. “You are… so incredible, Rachel Berry.”

She blushes and backs away from me with two tiny steps, heading for the piano bench. “Please, please. Hold your applause until after the performance.” She sits down at the piano bench and unfolds two small pages of sheet music. “I found it in my purse. You didn’t think you were getting out of today without a song, did you?”

“I guess I didn’t,” I lean against the piano and hold my chin in the palm of my hand so I can prepare to listen.

“Hello everyone,” she speaks loud like she’s trying to project to the entire room, which makes me grin. “I’m Rachel Berry and I’m going to sing a little song for you tonight.”

Still smirking, I start chanting her name in the kind of loud whisper that mimics what a crowd full of a thousand people would sound like. “Rachel! Rachel! Rachel! Rachel!”

“Settle down, settle down,” she waves her hands at the empty seats instead of at me, but I still stop chanting anyway. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my soulmate on the most special day of the year, her birthday.”

As soon as she plays the first note, a tingle arches across my scalp and I shudder with the chills. My eyes slowly close when she starts singing, because I just want to take all of this in. This is another moment that I wish I could bottle up and freeze.

** _“She says I smell like safety and home. I named both of her eyes, ‘forever and please don’t go.’ I could be morning sunrise all the time, all the time… yeah. This could be good, this could be good.”_ **

Even though my eyes are closed, two stray tears slip out from underneath my eyelids as she sings the chorus with such Rachel-esque beauty. And I don’t know if she’s really just this insanely talented or if it sounds better because she actually relates to this song or if it’s both, but she sounds SO much better than she’s ever sounded. Her voice fills the entire room and projects and I wish I could have her sing me to sleep every single night. I can’t stop crying. I said I didn’t want her to sing to me but I’m glad she did. She couldn’t have picked a more fitting song. I mouth the lyrics as she sings the chorus.

** _“And I can’t change, even if I tried. Even if I wanted to. And I can’t change, even if I tried. Even if I wanted to… my love, my love, my love, my love… she keeps me warm. She keeps me… warm.”_ **

I open my eyes and wipe my tears with the backs of my hands, then sit down on the bench right next to her. I don’t know how to play the piano, so I just watch her hands flow along the keys for a minute until she grabs mine. She grabs mine and placed them right on top of hers and it’s like we’re both playing. We’re both playing and she’s looking at me with that beautiful face and I’m sad and overwhelmed because I love her so much. Overwhelmed because I love her so much and would do anything in this world for her but sad because she will never know exactly how much I love her and I just can’t… how is it healthy for one person to feel this strongly about another?

** _“What’s your middle name? Do you hate your job? Do you fall in love too easily? What’s your favorite word? Do you like kissing girls? Can I call you baby? Yeah, yeah.”_ **

I lick my lips and take a deep breath because even though this is supposed to be my birthday gift, I want to sing with her. I can’t hold my own against a powerhouse voice like hers, but who cares? I want to sing with my girlfriend.

** _“She says people stare ‘cause we look so good together,” _ ** we sing together in unison and that line makes us both smile. ** _“And I can’t change even if I tried. Even if I wanted to. And I can’t change even if I tried. Even if I wanted to. My love, my love, my love, my love… she keeps me warm, she keeps me warm. She keeps me warm, she keeps me warm.”_ **

She guides my hands to the next notes on the piano keys and when I open my mouth to sing the next part with her, I notice that she doesn’t open hers. She lets me go solo for the next part and maybe she did it because she’s tired of singing or maybe she did it so she can focus on guiding me through these notes. But I personally think she did it because she knows how much this part means to me…

** _“I’m not crying on Sundays…” _ ** Ironically, tears fall down my cheeks when I sing that line because I did. I really did. Maybe it wasn’t on Sundays, but I felt like my life was in shambles because I kept this secret inside of me and all I did was cry. All I did was cry and wish that it wasn’t true, that I wasn’t gay and that I was normal. ** _“I’m not crying on Sundays…”_ **

** _“Love is patient, love is kind,” _ ** she sings my echo so softly that her voice sounds like it might break. ** _“Love is patient, love is kind.”_ **

** _“I’m not crying on Sundays.”_ **

** _“Love is patient, love is kind.”_ **

I take my hands away from the piano as soon as my part is done so I can wipe the tears from my face, but she jumps right in to pick up so the song doesn’t miss a beat. And I’m too emotional and in my head to close it out but it’s okay because she gets it and she closes it out herself, with her beautiful angelic voice.

** _“My love, my love, my love, my love… she keeps me warm. She keeps me warm…”_ **

When she’s done playing the last notes, she doesn’t take her hands away from the keyboard immediately. She keeps them there, just rested on the white keys and so I put my hands on top of hers again.

But this time, I’m holding her hands instead.


	48. Different

As soon as Mr. Jones pulls into the driveway and puts the car in park, me and Mercedes both get out at the same time and even though I’m carrying the takeout box of the food I had to pack up because I was too full to finish, I sprint my fastest right past her and up the four steps that lead to the porch.

“Quinn!” she screams and catches up to me pretty quickly. I’m trying to shove my house key into the lock when she grabs me by the collar of my jacket and pulls me away. “Move!”

“Stop! It’s  _ my  _ birthday!” I wiggle my arms out of my jacket so she has nothing left to grab onto and try to open the door again, but she pushes me aside and jumps in front of me. “Mercedes, stop it! It’s MY birthday!”

“I don’t care! You’ve been milking that long enough!” She stiff-arms me in the chest and fiddles with the doorknob, but I claw at her hand and pull it away.

“It’s my birthday! And I called dibs! I called it! I called it when we were at the gas station! Move, you evil little whore!” I fight to hold onto the doorknob so I can turn it and let myself into the house first. “Move!”

“I don’t care that it’s your birthday! Get off of me or you won’t live to see your eighteenth!” She squeezes my wrist so hard that it actually hurts a little bit. “Get out of my way, Quinn! I will break it!”

“Oww! Stop!” I smack her in the shoulder.

“What in the fifty shades of blue hell are you two going on about?” Mr. Jones pushes both of us aside so he can open the door, and Mrs. Jones isn’t far behind him with my leftover birthday cake in tow.

“I’m so sick uh y’all two arguin’ today,” Mrs. Jones moves us both aside with her shoulder and talks to us under her breath. “You better fix it ‘fore I smack both uh you around.”

“Quinn ALWAYS gets in the shower first, Mom. ALWAYS. And she uses all the hot water,” Mercedes pleads her case and I can’t believe she’s going to stand here and lie like that.

“I do not!” I stomp my foot like a ten-year-old, but I can’t help it. She’s lying! “And it’s not my fault she always waits until the last freaking minute to get in the shower! I called dibs on the shower first when we were in the car!”

“And I don’t care what you called, I’m getting in the shower first! Mom, tell her. Seriously.” Mr. Jones finally gets the door open and nudges Bobby and Whitney back with his feet so the rest of us can come through. Mercedes stops beside the door to take her shoes off and keeps whining. “I came on my period today in school and I’ve been dying to shower ever since. My situation is a little more dire than hers.”

“But I want to take a shower before I sit down and call my sister so I don’t have to worry about it,” I explain my side as I take my shoes off too. “I’ll be quick, I swear.”

“You’re never quick!” Mercedes yells at me.

“I am! It’s not my fault I have to wash my hair all the time so it takes me a little longer! I go as fast as I can!”

“You don’t have to shave every nook and cranny every night! That’s what takes forever!”

“I don’t shave every night!”

“You do! You’re so worried that you’re gonna have a little bit of hair somewhere because god forbid Rachel doesn’t have a perfectly smooth crotch to dine on when she —“

“Well maybe that’s why Sam won’t go down on you!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about! You think just because —“

“KEEP IT UP AND YOU’RE BOTH GROUNDED!” Mrs. Jones yells at us so loud that we’re both stunned to complete silence. I’ve never heard her scream like that… I didn’t know she was capable. Now I’m starting to believe all the stories Mercedes used to tell me about how she used to spank her and her brother when they got out of line. I didn’t believe it before but I can totally see it now. “MERCEDES!” She points a finger at Mercedes and her eyes tell the entire story that we shouldn’t mess around with her rift now. “QUINN!” She yells at me next and my mouth is officially glued shut.  _ I am… scared? Maybe?  _ “That’s enough. I don’t wanna hear nothin’ else outta you. Goddamn ridiculous, you two. Fightin’ over something so damn stupid. I’ve had it with the arguin’ today! ‘Cedes, instead of standin’ here bitchin’, take your ass upstairs and get on in. Quinn, you get in after her. If I hear one more nasty word outta either uh you I’m taking the phones and y’all are going to bed after your nightwork. And I mean it.”

“Thank you,” Mercedes storms past me and heads for the steps. “Finally, someone else sees that she —“

“You’re excused, by the way!” I snap at her because she bumped me with her elbow — totally on purpose — when she started climbing up the stairs.

“Ain’t your momma tell you two to shut up?” Mr. Jones hangs all our coats up in the closet. “Mercedes, get the hell upstairs and shut your mouth. And don’t you touch her on the way up there, either. Keep your hands and limbs to yourself. Quinn, stop with the smartass remarks and go let the dogs out while you wait your turn. You ain’t gotta take a shower first every night. Quit being a brat.”

“But it’s not my fault that she waits every night! It’s not like I make a conscious decision to get in the shower first! I just don’t wait! I eat dinner and then I take shower and then I do my homework. In that order. She could take one first if she wanted to, but she waits around until the last minute and now I’m getting blamed for taking a shower first all the time and being made the bad guy because I wash my hair and shave.” I fold my arms over my chest. “It’s not fair.”

“Right, and it’s one freaking night! I want to get in the shower first one freaking night and you throw a fit because I’m not bowing down and kissing your butt on your birthday!” She yells down the steps.

“Just shut up and get in already!” I scream up the steps.

“PHONES!” Mrs. Jones stomps into the hallway from the kitchen and holds her hand out. “NOW! I told you two I was done listening to it and that’s what the hell I meant. Phones, NOW!”

“But I have to call my sister!” I feel tears stinging my eyes.  _ Please no. I really wanted to talk to Frannie tonight…  _ “I told her I would call her after I got settled down tonight.”

“I don’t care, use the house phone. Gimme your phone. Now.”

“But she might not answer! She might not know the number and she won’t answer if she doesn’t know the number! Please! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I’ll stop arguing! I’ll shut up!”

“Shut up then,” she says to me through clenched teeth. “No back talk, no snarky comments, no smart remarks, NOTHING. Shut on up. Next time you say anything, I’m takin it. No questions asked and no explanations.”

“Yes ma’am,” I nod my head fast.

“Am I understood up them steps, Mercedes Marie? One more word and I’m takin’ that phone. Shut your damn mouth.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mercedes mumbles and I hear the bathroom door shut.

“Now. Go on and let Whitney and Bobby outside so they can pee while I clean up this here kitchen,” Mrs. Jones walks back to the kitchen and I follow her so I can let the dogs out in the backyard instead of the front one.

I open the back door and grab the leash, which makes both Whitney and Bobby come running. 

_ I’m so angry with Mercedes right now that I could kick the trashcan over. She’s been getting on my nerves all day. She’s been making snide comments about how it’s just my birthday and not a national holiday, snide comments about how Rachel spent a lot of money on my birthday gift, snide comments about how much food I ordered at dinner and snide comments about how I ate two pieces of my own cake. We’ve been at each other’s throats nonstop for the last hour and I know she’s just being a little bitchy because she’s PMSing and arguing with her feels like arguing with Frannie, and god she’s so frustrating. It’s like a sibling relationship, though. I know that by tomorrow, we’ll be fine and back to being best friends but I really hate her right now. _

I leash both the dogs up and go back inside since it’s too cold to stand outside and wait for them to do their business, and things have seemed to cool down quite a bit inside.

That’s one more thing I love about it here. Back in the Fabray household, nobody blew up and nobody had arguments. Every bad feeling or slight gripe we had with each other was swept under the rug and totally ignored. But on the off chance that there ever was an argument, it rocked the entire household. It was explosive and it blew out of proportion and it shook the entire house and it took a week for everyone to be okay again.

That doesn’t happen in the Jones household. Here, we blow up at each other, we apologize, we keep it moving. Things blow over in a matter of minutes here. Nobody has the time to walk around angry and hiding their feelings all the time, and honestly? Nobody cares enough to. I think the main difference is that the basis of this house is love. And that’s as big a difference as you can get from the Fabray household.

I close the storm door behind myself but not the wooden door, because I have to be able to see when Bobby and Whitney are done. Mrs. Jones flutters around the kitchen like me and Mercedes’ argument never happened, which makes it easier and less awkward for me to open the fridge and grab a can of ginger ale from the case on the bottom shelf. I guess it isn’t a big deal to let Mercedes shower first. She wasn’t lying, she  _ did  _ get her period today at school. It was around lunch time when she texted me and asked me if I had extra tampons in my locker and she was in luck. I keep an entire box in my locker for emergencies and since I had Beth, I’ve only had a couple periods so my box is still stocked up. My point is that she did get her period and she’s been walking around feeling gross all day because we went straight to dinner after school and glee club. Maybe I was a bit irrational. Maybe I should apologize when she comes back downstairs.

I crack open my can of soda and take a sip as Mrs. Jones grabs the broom from the cleaning closet so she can sweep the already clean kitchen floor. 

“You talk to your momma today?” she asks me as she sweeps her imaginary dirt pile into the dustpan.

“She texted me earlier,” I lean against the countertops and take another sip of ginger ale. “Early this morning, she told me happy birthday. And she sent me some money as a gift.”

“Oh, she did?”

“Yeah. She transferred $300 to my account.”  _ Just when I forgot… I had actually started to forget that I’m sad and now I’m sad all over again. I’m sad because I miss Mom and I wish she would have come to see me on my birthday… or maybe at least called me… but I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Most kids would die to get $300 as a gift for their birthday and I’m here whining because my mom didn’t call me or come see me. I should stop whining. I should be a little more grateful. _

“But she ain’t call you? She ain’t talk to you on the phone, she sent you a text and some money?” I can tell by the look on Mrs. Jones’ face that she is upset, maybe even angry. But she is trying her hardest to control her emotions so she doesn’t upset me but it’s fine. I mean, if she really wanted to, she could let out how she’s truly feeling because she can’t upset me anymore than I’m already upset. 

I shake my head to answer her question, and I’ve been really doing well all day. I wanted to cry when I read the text message earlier but I didn’t because I convinced myself that it was still early enough for her to call me and wish me happy birthday voice-to-voice. I wanted to cry when I was at my locker but I didn’t get the chance to because Rachel found me first. Then I wanted to cry in study hall while I was journaling about it, but I didn’t because I told myself that the day wasn’t over and that she was going to surprise me by coming to visit tonight. I’ve wanted to cry about this multiple times today and I’ve been holding strong but it’s getting late. It’s almost 6:30 and the hours are slimming and my birthday is winding down and still nothing. Nothing but that generic text message and the extra $300 in my account.  _ I don’t think she’s going to call or come see me…  _

I put my head down the same way I used to when I was like ten and needed to cry. I can’t help it. I don’t want to stand in the middle of the kitchen with my head down and tears rolling down my cheeks like I’m little again, but that’s how I feel. I feel little again. I feel little and I feel just as disappointed as I was when I found out Santa wasn’t real. It’s all over my body and it stings and it makes me put my head down and cover my hands over my eyes.

_ Why didn’t she call me? I just wanted to hear her voice… and I really wanted to see her today. I just wanted to see her so I could hug her and tell her that I’m sorry that we fought and that I’m doing better here. I wanted to tell her that I got new medicine and I’m mildly bipolar and have PTSD. I wanted to tell her that we won sectionals and regionals are soon and she could come if she wants. And that I see Beth regularly now. And I have all As in my classes. And my GPA is a 4.3. And I’m happy here. If she cares, I’m really really happy here. Why didn’t she come see me? Why didn’t she at least call? _

“Ah, Quinn,” Mrs. Jones sucks her teeth and puts her hand in the middle of my back. “Don’t you cry.” Her fingernails scratch the middle of my back very gently as she comforts me. “Don’t you let it make you cry. Come on now, don’t let it get you down.”

“I thought she was going to come see me,” I whisper as my hands get wetter and wetter with my tears.

“She probably just busy,” Mrs. Jones tries to soften my disappointment by offering an excuse and a pat on my back. “It is a Monday. Folks gotta work and stuff, she probably just busy.”

“She doesn’t work anymore,” I snivel and wipe my eyes really hard with the pads of my fingers. “Why hasn’t she at least called me? I just wanted to talk to her.”

“I know, sugar. I know.” She pulls me a little closer to her. “Grown up things are complicated sometimes, you know? But your momma love you. She do. If she ain’t love you, she woulda never let you here with me. Mmkay? Just remember that.”

I nod my head at her now that all my tears are gone. “Okay,” I mumble.

I’m okay now, I really am. Yeah, it hurts that I probably won’t get a call or a visit from Mom today when it’s really all I wanted, but I’m okay. I let it knock me down for a minute but I’m okay again. All I have to do is keep reminding myself that the Joneses are enough. They bought me a really nice gift and took me to my favorite restaurant and bought me a really nice birthday cake. I had a great birthday with them. They love me. I am here and this is where I’m meant to be.

“I tell you what,” Mrs. Jones pats my butt like I’m a baby or something. “Now that ‘Cedes is out the shower, you go on up there and take one yourself and then we’ll all pile up in the living room and I’ll pop summa that popcorn, and we’ll watch a couple movies. Alright?”

“Yeah,” I clear my throat free of all the phlegm my crying brought up and head for the back door so I can let Whitney and Bobby back inside before I take a shower. The doorbell rings, which makes Whitney start barking, but Mercedes just so happens to be coming back down the steps as it rings and we all know that she’ll get it so we don’t bother.

I catch myself thinking that it’s Mom for a second, but I push the thought out of my head quickly so I don’t open myself up to any amount of disappointment. In reality, it’s probably Sam or probably Tina or probably Rachel. Either way, whoever it is will probably be able to join us for movies, so I’d better hurry up in the shower so I don’t keep people waiting.

Whitney and Bobby both bolt down the hallway to see who is at the door and I’m not far behind them, but I do stop in my tracks when I hear a voice coming from the porch. A voice that says something along the lines of, “hi Mercedes, is Quinn here?” Whitney barks her head off so I can’t hear very well, but I can tell that it’s a woman’s voice and by the way Whitney barks, it’s someone she’s not familiar with.

_ Mom? Did she actually come?! It doesn’t sound like her but then again, Whitney is barking and I can’t hear that well and who else would be coming? It’s not Rachel’s voice, it’s not Tina’s voice. It’s gotta be her! Or maybe it’s Frannie. No, it’s not Frannie. She’s deep in the middle of her semester and she can’t just take off like that. It’s gotta be mom. It’s gotta be. She came! She actually came! Mom! She — _

“Quinn!” Mercedes calls down the hallway. “You have visitors!”

_ Visitors…? Plural? As in more than one…? _

I practically skip/jog up the hallway and I’m almost to the door when Mercedes steps aside and lets my visitors inside. And well… it’s not Mom. It’s not Mom and it’s not Rachel and it’s not Tina and it’s not Frannie. And if Whitney hadn’t been barking, I’d have heard the perfect pitch of her voice and known automatically exactly who it was at the door. But Whitney was barking, I couldn’t hear, and I couldn’t prepare myself to see Shelby standing there.

_ What is she doing here…? _

_ Not that I’m not happy to see her because… I am? I am kind of happy to see her? Maybe a little bit? But this is extremely unexpected… who the hell told her where I live? Who the hell… Rachel. It had to have been Rachel. This has Rachel Barbra Berry written all over it. This had to have been the act of Rachel. There’s NO other explanation. _

“Hey Shelby,” I use my fakest voice to sound more sweet and excited and less shocked and confused.

When Mercedes moves off to the side a little more, it’s like a big reveal. And it’s not like I thought she left Beth at home or in the car or whatever, but I just wasn’t really expecting to see her here too. And I wasn’t expecting for all the sadness and disappointment I had about my special visitor not being my mother to just melt away when I see my baby on Shelby’s hip. My heart feels like it’s swelling and growing by ten sizes and I can’t stop the widest and most honest smile from spreading across my face.

“Hiiiii, baby!” I hold my arms out to her and take a few steps closer. “Hello! Hi, my sweet baby! You wanna come see me?!” I flex my fingers open and closed in a “come here” motion and hold my arms open for her. “Come on! Come see me!”

“You wanna go see Quinn?” Shelby leans her a little closer to me. “Huh? Say, ‘happy birthday!’ Tell her!”

Beth takes a moment, but as soon as she registers that I’m the same old me just in a different environment than she’s used to, she leans right into me with her chubby little arms extended and I take her.

“Hi, baby girl! Did you come see me for my birthday?” I press my lips to her cheek and kiss her a dozen times, my lips making that loud sucking noise. “Oh, I missed you! I missed you so much!”

“Hey, little Bethy,” Mercedes touches her hand and Beth looks at her like she’s studying her or something. I’m not sure if she likes Mercedes just yet, but she’s not crying so that’s a start. Her eyes flicker down to Mercedes’ fingers stroking her chubby hand, then she looks back up at me. “You get prettier and prettier every time I see you.”

“Say, ‘it’s because I look like my mama!’ Yep!” I rub her back and kiss her cheek just one more time. “Yep, yep, yep! Shelby, do you mind if I take her coat and her hat off?” I ask. Mercedes makes her way to the kitchen to leave us alone and I’m kind of glad she did that.

“You can, but we weren’t gonna stay long,” Shelby licks her finger and wipes some dried snot off the side of Beth’s cheek. “Me and Beth just wanted to stop by and give you your present. I was going to wait until Wednesday when you come over to watch her, but my daughter — Rachel, not Beth — is extremely persuasive. She said that it’d really make your night if we dropped it off personally, so. Here we are.” She hands me a giant rectangle wrapped in black and white wrapping paper. “The present was actually Rachel’s idea too, but I added my own little… twist.”

I take the present from her and it’s a bit heavy, so I have to hand Beth back over to her so I can open it and hold it with two hands. I tear the wrapping paper at the corners first so I don’t make too much noise. And I’ll clean it up later, so I just toss it all onto the floor as I open because if the gift was Rachel’s idea, then I know it’s probably the most perfect gift ever and I’m excited to see it.

And I… was  _ so  _ right.

“Oh…” I cover my hand over my mouth as that noise escapes from me and take a deep breath because I’m going to cry. I’m going to cry, it’s inevitable. My jaw trembles and my eyes are glossy and it’s just SO incredibly perfect… “Oh my… God…”

“I spent all night last night making it…” Shelby shifts Beth onto her hip and looks at it with me. “Beth helped glue the paper to the cardstock… among other things.”

I giggle and stroke my hand along the glass because it’s so beautiful that I just want to make sure it’s real. I want to make sure it’s real and make sure it’s actually mine. There are so many elements to it… the more I look at it, the more I find new things to love.

It’s a shadowbox. The frame of it is a sturdy wood that’s painted black, and the backdrop inside of it is made of light brown wooden planks. At the top, black letters with white polkadots on them spell out the word “MOTHER”, and underneath of the word is the definition, but it’s been altered a bit. If you looked up the word “mother” in the dictionary, chances are you’ll probably get some basic definition about a mother being someone to gives birth to a child. But the definition that Shelby put underneath the word this time says, “a strong, loving, caring woman who acts within the best interest of her child at all times; the center of creation, inspiration, and love. A mender of hearts, a maker and holder of memories, someone who loves unconditionally.” And underneath that definition, there’s a picture of me and Beth that Rachel snapped way back at sectionals. It was when Beth put her forehead against mine and I know it’s that same moment that Rachel snapped, but it looks so much different. It’s been edited to look professionally taken. The background is blurred and the only two people center focus are me and my baby. And if that isn’t enough to make me melt into a puddle of emotions, two plasters of Beth’s tiny handprints are underneath the picture.

“The picture was all Rachel. She suggested I get it framed for you, but it just seemed like… like it was missing something. So I had the idea for the shadowbox, and… well, yeah.” Shelby explains. “Do you like it?” She asks, eyebrows raised.

“I love it, Shelby,” I nod my head quickly. “It’s very special. I… I can’t thank you enough. It’s beautiful. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.”

“You hear that, boo boo?” She turns to Beth. “She likes our gift. I told you your handprints would be a nice touch. You protested, but I told you so.”

I laugh and lay my shadowbox down very carefully on the mantle. I’m careful with it and I will always be gentle with it because it’s the most priceless thing I have ever and will ever own. “I can’t believe you got her to sit still long enough to do her handprints.”

“She screamed bloody murder when I tried it the first time so I just had to do it while she was sleeping last night and hope that it was dry by the time I had to assemble it this morning,” Shelby laughs.

“Aww, my baby! Did you cry?” I hold my arms out for her once more and yet again, she comes to me with complete ease. “Did you cry when mommy tried to put your hands in that nasty stuff?” Beth clonks her head down on my chest and sucks on her two fingers. I don’t know why, but she always wants to lie down when I have her in my arms. Even when she’s not tired, she just wants to lie on my chest and suck her fingers. Rachel says it’s because my presence brings her some sort of peace that Shelby can’t give her, but I think I just bore her into being sleepy. “Thank you so much for my present, baby girl. I love it. I love it so much. Thank you!”

I know it’s a long shot… and I know Shelby will probably politely turn me down… and I can’t say I blame her if she does turn me down… but they would love her. I know they would. And I really want them to meet my baby…. so I have to ask…

“Hey Shelby,” I take a deep breath to gather some courage. “Would you mind if I introduced her to my parents? They’re just in the next room. I’ll make it quick. It’s just that they’ve been asking about her and I think they’d like to meet her.”

“Your parents?” Shelby narrows her eyes. “But I thought —“

“Well, they’re Mercedes’ parents. But they’ve been taking care of me. They took care of me while I was pregnant and they’ve been  _ really  _ good to me and… and they’re more like my parents than my actual parents. They’re good people, I promise. They’re the best. And I know they’d really love to meet her.”

Shelby is silent for a few moments, and I know it’s because she’s trying to come up with a nice way to reject me. And I totally get it. I totally understand if she says no. She doesn’t know the Joneses. They’ve never spoken and never met and she knows nothing about them. She has to do whatever is best for Beth and I can’t fault her for thinking that being introduced to strangers might not be in her best interest, especially when Beth is afraid of strangers. I get it. I’m not offended by her rejecting me, and maybe we’ll be able to work up to it by Thanksgiving or Christmas.

“I tell you what,” she sighs as if she put a lot of thought into what she’s going to say next. “I have to run and get gas and then grab a couple things from the market before we head home. And it’s always a hassle, you know, lugging her in and out of the carseat and putting her in the shopping cart, so.”

Her eyes lock with mine and I hold her gaze. She has no expression on her face. Her eyes are wide and catlike, her mouth pressed into a straight line. Her eyebrows are slightly elevated and her arms are folded across her chest. She has no expression on her face, but I can read her like a book. It’s just something between us, something unspoken. I know that by this look, she is telling me that she trusts me and by the look I give her back, I know that she gets me telling her that she  _ CAN  _ trust me. 

“I’ll be back in 45 minutes,” she says, emphasis on the 45.

“Okay.” I say clearly and when she heads for the door, Beth doesn’t even whine. She just watches Shelby leave the house with her little lips parted and her mouth gaped open. When the door shuts behind Shelby, Beth turns her head and looks at me as if she’s making sure I’m still here with her. And when she’s sure that it really is me, she clonks her head back down on my chest and stuffs her fingers back into her mouth.  _ Maybe Rachel’s right. Maybe I do bring her some sort of peace. _

While her head is on my chest, I pull the little white crocheted hat with ears on it off her head, then unbutton her white mini trenchcoat. I hang her hat and her trenchcoat across the stair railing, then run my hand across her hair to smooth it down because I want her to look as cute as possible when I show her to Mr. and Mrs. Jones.

Shelby has her dressed in the cutest outfit and I’m so thankful for that because… Okay, I know she isn’t mine. I mean she  _ is  _ mine. She’s my baby and she looks like me and I went through nine months pregnant with her and suffered all the pain to push her out and she’s mine, for all intents and purposes. However, she’s not actually  _ my  _ baby, I know that. But for some reason, I really care that she looks her best when she’s meeting my family because I want to show her off. I want them to see that she is cute and she is pretty and she is perfect and she is mine and she is even dressed like she belongs to me. 

She’s wearing a dress, which isn’t unusual for Beth. She’s always wearing a dress, like me. The dress she has on is long-sleeved and even though it’s made of cotton, the fabric looks really expensive and heavy. It’s yellow and brown plaid with a brown bow in the middle of the chest. Her chubby little legs are stuffed inside of white stockings and her feet are inside of furry brown boots. She is a miniature Quinn Fabray and I love it.

“Okay baby girl,” I whisper to her and press my lips to the top of her head. “You wanna go meet some people? They’ve been dying to meet you… you’ll like them, I promise.”

I secure her against my chest like I can protect her from anything as long as I’m holding onto her, and walk to the living room. I haven’t figured out exactly what I’m going to say to introduce her yet, so I just hang out by the door and wait for them to notice me. Mr. Jones is in his favorite recliner and Mrs. Jones is on the floor, sifting through a box of DVDs. Mercedes must still be in the kitchen.

“I’m telling you, ‘Trice. They ain’t gonna wanna watch no DVDs. They gonna turn on that Netflix and that’s that.” Mr. Jones holds his newspaper up in front of his face.

“You hush,” Mrs. Jones mumbles.

“I’m surprised you ain’t make them both go to bed with all the hollering they did earlier,” Mr. Jones flips the page of his newspaper and crosses his feet on the coffee table.

“They was just fightin’ like siblings do. It ain’t no different from how ‘Cedes and ‘Kel used to fight before ‘Kel went off to school.” Mrs. Jones stuffs the DVD box back inside the TV stand. “Tell you the truth, I was a lil glad when I heard Quinn yellin’ like that. Means she’s finally comfortable here. Comfortable enough to fight n backtalk n get yelled at.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Jones laughs from his throat. “I was starting to think the poor girl was scared of us or something. She never talked back or ran that mouth until today. No teenager acts like that unless they scared of you.”

“Exactly,” Mrs. Jones turns the TV to the Netflix app. “You know her momma ain’t call her today? She ain’t call, she ain’t come see her, she just sent her a text and some money.”

“You fuckin’ with me, ‘Trice?” He puts his newspaper down. “She ain’t call her? On her birthday?”

“Nope. Poor girl cried her eyes out in the kitchen, askin’ me why her momma ain’t call her. Broke my heart. I ain’t even know what to say.” Mrs. Jones sighs. “I almost told her to go on head and call Judy herself. ‘Least then she —“

“You better not ever tell her that, Patrice.” Mr. Jones’ voice is gruff and stern. “I mean it. You better not ever tell that little girl to call her momma first. That ain’t her place. That’s her momma’s fault. She the adult. She supposed to be the one to call her baby and make sure she’s alright. That ain’t Quinn’s job. Don’t you ever make her feel like it is. It ain’t up to her to make amends. Quinn is a seventeen-year-old little girl. She ain’t the one who —“

As much as I’d love to sit here and listen to them talk about me, we only have 45 minutes with Beth and I don’t want to waste anymore time, so I clear my throat. I clear it gentle enough so that I don’t seem disrespectful, but loud enough for them to actually hear me. Both of them stop talking immediately and whip their heads around to where I’m standing in the doorway.

Mrs. Jones notices her first and her jaw nearly falls to the floor.

“Mom… Dad…” I adjust my grip on Beth and walk into the living room slowly, careful not to alarm my baby. I can’t contain the smile on my face. “This is Beth.” I lean forward and look at my baby girl. Her eyes are roaming the entire living room and she looks like she might cry, but she’s being very brave and I’m very proud. I feel her hand clench tight around the straps of my dress and she pulls a little bit of my skin with her grip. It’s like she’s begging me to stay here with her and not let her go and she melts my heart. “Say hi, baby. Hmm? You gonna tell them hi?” Beth sighs hard and audible against my chest.

“Oh my stars,” Mrs. Jones stands up and she can’t help herself. She comes right over to me and Beth and Beth’s grip on me is even a little tighter. “Oh my good heaven. She looks so much like you!”

“I know, right?” I stroke my fingers through her curls to comfort her. “This is my little munchkin butt. You guys finally get to meet her.”

“She is absolutely beautiful,” Mr. Jones stands up next but he approaches way slower and way less assertive as his wife. “She’s a little hamhock, too. Look at them legs! She like to eat?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s an eater. She’ll eat like two jars of baby food with rice cereal mixed in. In one sitting. And she’ll dust off a bottle right after.” I look over my shoulder when I hear someone enter, but it’s just Mercedes with two bowls of popcorn in tow. “Sometimes Shelby makes her puréed chicken and she’ll eat the whole bowl.”

“She ever give that baby a chicken bone?” Mrs. Jones starts by touching Beth’s foot, and Beth tenses up when she does. I can tell that she’s dying to hold her but I don’t want to make my baby cry. She’s not ready for that yet.

“A chicken bone? Like… like an actual chicken bone?” I ask and keep my cheek against Beth’s forehead to try and settle her. “She’s not even nine months old yet.”

“Don’t matter,” Mr. Jones laughs and shakes his head. “She can have a chicken bone. That’s how they cut teeth.”

“Sure is. You ‘posed to eat all the chicken off the bone and get the gristle off real good. Then let her chew on it. That’s how ‘Cedes and ‘Kel cut their teeth.”

“It’s a miracle I didn’t choke,” Mercedes mumbles and holds onto Beth’s hand. “You’re so pretty, Bethy. You’re so pretty. You remember me? Huh? You remember auntie ‘Cedes?”

Beth turns her head away from Mercedes and sighs again, but she’s still not crying which I think is a complete win. She could be screaming her head off like she did when Shelby first left her with me.

“She seems really attached to you, Quinn.” Mr. Jones can’t help himself either. He rubs his hand on the back of Beth’s head and touches her soft little curls. “She knows who her mother is, that’s for sure.”

“She’s just used to me from babysitting, that’s all.” I put my lips to her head again and sway with her from side to side. “I’m familiar to her, that’s all it is.”

“Child, that baby knows her mother.” Mrs. Jones starts stroking her hair as I sway with her. “She grew up inside of you for nine months and you think she don’t remember how you feel? And how you sound? Why you think her head is laying on your heart like that? She listenin’ to your heartbeat. She remember how that sounds.”

“Yeah Quinn,” Mercedes puts the popcorn on the table and watches like me and Beth are a movie scene. “I’ve only been around her a few times, but even I can tell that the way she acts with you is different than the way she acts with Shelby. She never just lays on Shelby and listens to her heartbeat. It’s like… like you calm her down or something. She loves you.”

“She just knows how much I love her,” I rub Beth’s back and kiss her forehead. “Is she going to sleep?”

“Nope,” Mrs. Jones shakes her head. “She’s just as content as she wanna be.”

“You wanna try holding her?” I offer because Beth seems pretty calm. She seems pretty calm and really relaxed, so maybe she’s comfortable here now. “Here, you can take her.”

“Okay pretty girl,” Mrs. Jones puts her hands under Beth’s armpits and lifts her off my chest. “Come on and see me. I been dyin’ to get my hands on you.”

Beth’s head pops right up and she starts breathing hard, like she’s panicking or something. Her cry starts as a really soft whine but as she realizes that she’s being taken away from me, her arms shoot out and she opens her mouth to wail. Her hand grips my new necklace that Rachel bought me and she pulls it hard, so I have to hold it still so she doesn’t rip it off.

“It’s okay, baby! It’s okay, I’m right here! I’m right here!” I pry her little fingers off my necklace. “I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here. She’s gonna hold you for a minute, okay? She just wants to hold you. She loves you.”

I really want Mr. and Mrs. Jones to have their time with her to get to know her. While I was pregnant, they would get so excited talking about what she was going to look like and stuff like that. They used to talk about her all the time and I started to get the sense that they loved both me and my baby. It was sad because they never got to meet her and never got to see what she looked like and how she cried and what she sounded like. So now that they actually get to meet her, I’m glad and I want them to have their time. I really do.

But it does feel really good to know that Beth wants me and only me.

* * *

Shelby is going to kill me.

I don’t think that she’s going to be angry in a serious sense, because she gives Beth things that Beth isn’t allowed to have all the time. Like just the other day when I went in to babysit, her and Beth were finishing up sharing an ice cream sandwich and I’m pretty sure babies under one aren’t allowed to have dairy products except formula or breastmilk but Beth ate nearly the entire ice cream sandwich. So I don’t think she’s going to be mad at me for giving Beth a slice of birthday cake, at least not seriously.

But she might kill me because it’s almost 8:00 and I have our baby consuming mass amounts of sugar and it’s already starting to show that she’s got a sugar rush.

The cake is the only way we could get her to stop crying, though. She would stop crying if I was holding her, but I really wanted Mr. and Mrs. Jones and Mercedes to hold her, so I went and cut off a slice of my birthday cake. And at first, I shared it with her. I took a bite and then let her take a bite off my spoon, then took another bite. And I was able to ease her on Mr. Joneses lap while I fed her cake. And she’s been staying there completely content as long as we keep feeding her.

She’s been babbling a whole lot and kicking her legs so I think the sugar is starting to get to her. Mr. Jones put her onto the couch next to him so he could get a baby wipe to wipe her hands off with and she started jumping on the couch. Literally, jumping. She held onto the back of the couch and started off by bending and straightening her legs really fast. Then she just started jumping and the only time she’s stopped jumping is when we hold another spoonful of cake by her mouth. She’s just jumping and screaming “DUH!” and Shelby is really going to kill me.

**iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**7:49 p.m.  
  
**

**ME: ** your mom is going to kill me.

I open up the camera app on my phone and switch it to video mode because I HAVE to show this to Rachel. So while Beth is jumping on the couch and screaming at the top of her lungs, I press “record” and get some good footage. All the way up until Mrs. Jones stops her by offering her a spoonful of cake frosting. My chubby baby leans forward with her mouth open and takes the cake, rubbing her lips together as she swallows it. Then she goes right back to jumping and screaming and I press “send” to Rachel.

**New iMessage**

**Monday, November 11**

**7:54 p.m.**

**RACHEL: ** Omg!!! Lmao!!! What did you do to her?! She’s so hyper! I’ve never seen her act like that! Is she high?!

**ME: ** sugar high!

**ME: ** i gave her a piece of cake!

**ME: ** she’s literally screaming rachel help me!

**RACHEL: ** You gotta let it wear off! This is so funny. Go Bethie! Go girl!

**ME: ** shelby’s gonna murder me.

**ME: ** rip quinn fabray.

**ME: ** died on her 17th birthday.

**RACHEL: ** Shut up. Lol. She won’t care… she’s gonna be pissed she gotta let Beth crash though!

**ME: ** i know she’s gonna be so mad!

**RACHEL: ** Lol. I miss you.

**RACHEL: ** You have a good birthday?

**RACHEL: ** Did you like my mom and Beth’s present?

**ME: ** it was beautiful I loved it.

**ME: ** i knew you had everything to do with it.

**RACHEL: ** I just gave her the picture I had edited, that’s it. Everything else came from her.

**RACHEL: ** Did you get everything you wanted?

**ME: ** yes!

**ME: ** well… not everything.

**RACHEL: ** Well what else did you want that you didn’t get? I’ll see what I can do. I told Mercedes I was going to let you have tonight to celebrate with your family but I can come over. Idc. I miss you anyway.

**ME: ** you can’t get me what i really wanted today, babe. don’t worry about it.

**RACHEL: ** Well what was it?

**ME: ** nothing.

**ME: ** well there is one thing i didn’t get that i wanted…

**ME: ** ;)

**RACHEL: ** Which is…?

**ME: ** guess.

**RACHEL: ** I’m terrible at guessing games.

**ME: ** all you have to do is think.

**ME: ** it’s something to eat…

**RACHEL: ** Is it something I can run to the store and get?

**ME: ** you don’t have to spend money on it.

**RACHEL: ** Is it something I can make?

**ME: ** already made.

**RACHEL: ** Is it in my fridge?

**RACHEL: ** You want more cupcakes? I don’t have leftover batter but I can definitely make some.

**ME: ** not cupcakes & not in your fridge.

**RACHEL: ** It’s in my pantry then?

**ME: ** more like in your pants…

**ME: ** ;)

**RACHEL: ** Goodnight, Quinn.

**ME: ** you asked!!!!!!

**RACHEL: ** Goodnight.

**ME: ** you literally asked.

**ME: ** i mean birthday sex is the only thing that could’ve made today better.

**RACHEL: ** Nighty night.

**ME: ** goodnight, rachel.

I lock my phone up just in time for the doorbell to ring again and it’s been a little over 45 minutes, so I know it’s gotta be Shelby. I get up off the floor and head for the door so I can let her in.

“So here’s the thing, Shelb…” I close the door behind her and put my arms around her shoulder in an attempt to butter her up. “Beth asked me for birthday cake. She was literally looking at me with those little eyes and that little face and she said ‘can I please have some birthday cake?!’ So…”

“Oh Quinn, tell me you didn’t…” Shelby closes her eyes and tilts her head to the ceiling. “Tell me you didn’t…”

“I couldn’t say no! She begged me and I couldn’t say no!”

“Is that her screaming?!” She follows me to the living room and sees it with her own eyes. Beth jumping on the couch and screaming and all wound up from her cake. “Oh Quinn… what did you do?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Do you have any idea how tired I am?”

“She’s gonna crash any minute!”

“I should leave her here with you! You wanna feed her cake, you deal with it!”

“Look at her, though! She’s loving it! She’s so happy!”

“Of course she’s happy! She’s an eight month old eating cake!” She grabs Beth’s hat and coat from the bannister. “I could kill you, you know.”

“Look how happy she is!”

“I should let you see how happy she is when it’s four a.m. and she won’t sleep!” She’s laughing, so that’s a good sign. Maybe she’s not actually mad. I kinda knew she wouldn’t be. I mean, I hoped she wouldn’t be.

“Here, I’ll go get her for you,” I wander into the living room and go over to the couch for Beth. “Oh, wait. Sorry. My bad. Mom, Dad, that’s Shelby. Shelby, that’s Jared and Patrice. My parents.”

“Good to meet you, honey,” Mrs. Jones nods in Shelby’s direction and hands Beth over to me. “We love your little girl.”

“She’s a lot of fun, huh?” Shelby grins as I bring Beth over to her. “I love your little girl, too. Both of them, actually. Quinn and Mercedes are great girls.”

“Eh, they alright,” Mr. Jones shrugs his shoulders.

“Guys, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna show Shelby and Beth out and then we can start the movie,” I call over my shoulder and I follow Shelby and Beth over to the door. “Thanks again for the gift, Shelby. I really do love it. And… and thank you. For letting me have her for a little while tonight. It really means a lot that you let her meet my family.”

“You’re welcome, Quinn,” she shifts bouncing Beth onto her hip. “I’ll see you Wednesday?”

“See you Wednesday.”

“...and you can watch her here, if you want,” she says slowly, and I know it took her a lot to say that. “You can watch her over here or at my apartment. Either one.”

* * *

**New iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 11**

**11:25 p.m.**

**RACHEL: ** You might be sleeping right now and that’s okay. I just wanted to be the last one to tell you happy birthday. Happy birthday and I love you so much and I hope your day was as special as you are. I’m so proud to call you my girlfriend and so glad that I don’t have to hide anymore. I love you. Goodnight and happy birthday, love.

**RACHEL: ** And also, dinner with my dads tomorrow. My house. 5:00 sharp. They really want to meet you.

**RACHEL: ** And there might be something tasty in store for you after dinner tomorrow… to make up for what you didn’t get to eat today ;b

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, November 11**

**11:32 p.m.**

**ME: ** not sleeping yet, just finished watching a movie. thank you for making today the best birthday ever. i love you to the moon and back, babe. wouldn’t trade you for the world. i’ll be at your house at 5:00 on the dot tomorrow. i can’t wait and i’m totally looking forward to the meal I missed out on today ;) goodnight & i love you.   
  


As soon as I press send, I put my phone down on the sink and continue to stare at myself in the mirror.

I can’t explain it, but I feel different. I feel different after everything that’s happened today, and I don’t know if it’s a good different or if it’s a bad different. All I know I that it’s different. I feel different on the inside. I want to feel different on the outside, too.

So I swallow my pride and take the leap into what I’ve been trying to get myself to do for the past ten minutes I’ve been in this bathroom. I hold my breath and pick up the scissors. I turn my head to the side.

And I feel satisfaction wash over me as the first inch of blonde falls to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And before anybody yells at me for it, let me just say right now that I did NOT forget about Quinn calling Frannie.


	49. Honesty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short update, but I just wanted to post something and tell you guys Happy Holidays and I really appreciate you!

* * *

The plastic cracks and crinkles loudly as she rips the sticker off the bakery box and pulls the container open. I didn’t get to see the bag that these came inside of but if I’m not mistaken, I think they’re from this bakery in Elida called Manzetti’s because the packaging looks familiar. If they are from Manzetti’s, then they’re super expensive. Every year for Mom’s birthday, Dad used to pack me and Frannie up and make the drive over to Elida just to buy her a birthday cake. They make this really good almond cake with buttercream icing and it’s Mom’s absolute favorite.

Dad stopped going to Manzetti’s for her cake the year after she found him cheating for the first time.

Bailey flips the top of the plastic container open and nudges it across the table so I can have first pick between the two cupcakes. One is light brown with light brown frosting and chopped up pieces of Reese’s peanut butter cups sprinkled on top. I’m going to assume that one is peanut butter flavored and the one next to it is a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and Kit-Kats chopped up on top. I’ll go for the peanut butter one.

“Your hair looks great, by the way.” Bailey picks up her share of the chocolate one and tosses the box onto the floor. “I didn’t think of you as the type. I always thought there was no way you’d ever cut off all your long, pretty hair and I certainly never pictured you with a short little… it’s almost like a bob? Whatever you wanna call it, it looks great on you. You look older. More mature. Less like a little baby.”

“You think?” I reach up and run my fingers through my hair and I do like my new cut. I do like it. But it’s a little weird to not feel my hair falling all down my back like it used to. I used to run my fingers through my hair and it didn’t stop until I was to my boobs. Now it barely touches my shoulder and it’s weird, but I think it’s a good weird. “I cut it myself, actually. I just wanted a change.”

“You cut it yourself?!” Her eyebrows raise up like I just revealed one of my darkest secrets. “No way!”

“I did,” I nod and stare at the only piece of my hair that I can see. I didn’t get all my split ends. “We’re supposed to go to a salon after school to get it touched up because there are a couple uneven pieces and I want side-bangs cut out to frame my face, but yeah. I just took a pair of scissors last night and chopped. I figured if I didn’t do it when I had the nerve, I’d never do it.”

“Well you look amazing, and I’m glad you cut it.” She peels the paper off her cupcake. “So how was your birthday? Did you do anything special? Or was the sleepover your friends threw you the big thing?”

“The sleepover was kind of the big thing,” I pick a Reese’s Cup off the frosting and pop it into my mouth. “My mom and dad took me to dinner, then Shelby —“

“Wait, you saw your mom and dad? That’s huge… you wanna —“

“Not my real mom and dad,” I say with a mouth full of frosting that I licked right off the top. “Sorry, I should’ve been more clear. But it wasn’t my real mom and dad. It was Mercedes’ mom and dad.”

“So you call them ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ now? Interesting.” She flips open her notebook and pulls the cap off her pen. “When did that start?”

“Just recently, I guess,” I look away from her because making eye contact is a little bit too painful at the moment. It’s kind of embarrassing to talk about how I call the Joneses “mom” and “dad” because I know it’s wrong. I know that fundamentally, I have no right. But I just don’t know what else to call them because “Mr. and Mrs. Jones” is starting to sound overwhelmingly wrong whenever they do everything they do for me. So I just don’t know what to call them and I’m very confused. “They told me I could and I guess I’ve just been… you know… like… trying it out.”

“Do you feel obligated to call them that? Do you feel like if you didn’t call them that, they might get mad at you? Or upset?”

“Not really because they're not like that,” I peel the paper off my cupcake and stare at it because I’m suddenly not hungry for a cupcake anymore but she paid a lot of money for them if they’re from Manzetti’s, so I really do have to eat it. “They didn’t like, make me call them that. I just slipped up one day at dinner. I think it’s because I hear Mercedes call them ‘mom and dad’ all the time and it just rubs off. So I slipped up one night at the dinner table and they didn’t say anything to me about it, so I just decided that I wasn’t going to do that. Then Patrice — err, Mrs. Jones — pulled me aside and told me that it was okay if I called them that. So I’ve been trying to figure out something to call them. I live in their house and they take really good care of me, don’t you think I should call them something a little more personal than ‘Mr. and Mrs.?”

“Well to be honest here Quinn, my main concern is you.” She puts her pen down and takes her glasses off. “I think it’s a beautiful thing what the Joneses are doing for you, and I’m a really huge fan of them. Honestly, I am. But I’m not really concerned whether their feelings are in check or not. What I’m concerned about is you, and making sure that your happiness isn’t being jeopardized. I know you said you don’t think their feelings are going to be hurt if you don’t call them ‘mom and dad’, but what about your feelings? How do _ you _feel about it?”

“I mean…” I smash my finger into the sponge of the cupcake. “I guess I want to call them that. If I think about it, I think I want to call them that. But I don’t want to hurt my actual mom and dad. Honestly…? I think I’m just confused for the most part.”

“Confused about what, sweetie?”

“Everything,” I shrug. “It just seems like everything got better when I moved in with them. I’m like, actually happy right now. I come home every night and I know that I’m not going to be alone, which is huge. And then I can be with Rachel openly. And I feel like someone actually supports me and my whole… recovery process, I dunno. Everything just got so much better when I moved in with them and then I know it’s not permanent and that I have to go home but then they really feel like my home so then I think maybe I’ll stay but then I can’t. I can’t stay there. Not forever. Not legally. But then maybe my mom won’t fight for me to come back, so maybe I can? But then what if she does? Then I’m back home and what if things get bad again? I can’t just keep running away to the Joneses every time things are bad. I’m just… I’m confused.”

“I wanna go back to something you just said for a minute,” she puts her glasses back on and picks up her pen again. “You said when you come home from school, you know that you won’t be alone and that’s huge for you. I know you and me talked about how you used to be left home alone a lot and that’s okay because you were sixteen, but was that something that bothered you?”

“A little, I guess.” _ It bothered me a lot. I don’t mean to sound like a baby, but I needed someone there with me. Maybe not all the time and maybe not forever, but I was in the house by myself all the time and it was just so… lonely. I was always by myself. _“It’s not like I wanted my mom home with me all the time, but I just felt like… like… like she gets eight hours a day by herself when I’m at school. When I’m home from school, can’t she just be there with me for a few hours?”

“Why do you think it bothered you so much to be left alone?”

“I dunno. It never bothered me before, so I don’t really know why it bothered me then.” I shrug again and I feel tears about to roll down my cheeks. “I guess maybe I was scared?”

“I think you were scared, too.” She hands me a tissue. “Scared to be left alone.”

“Yeah,” I nod and sniff as I dab my eyes with the tissue. “And it’s like she didn’t see that. It’s like she didn’t see that I didn’t want to be alone and she didn’t care.”

“You wanna talk about why you were afraid to be left alone in your house?” She hands me yet another tissue for the fresh round of tears that just fell down. “It’s okay if you need a minute, sweetheart. You take all the time you need.”

_ I don’t know why I was scared, Bailey. All I know is that I was. I was absolutely terrified to be left alone in my house as much as I was. And I don’t mean to crucify my mom because I was sixteen and more than capable of being left alone in the house. I don’t think she’s a bad mom for leaving me alone. I wasn’t a baby who needed constant supervision. But every time I came home and saw that she wasn’t there, I got this overwhelming anxiety and it made my heart beat fast and my legs shake and I got so scared. Every single time. And I don’t know why because I never really asked myself._

_ I guess maybe I was scared because… maybe it was because I… because…._

“I knew that if I wanted to do it I could do it and actually succeed,” I fold my arms across my chest and look down at the desk. “She wasn’t there, so that meant she wasn’t there to catch me or save me like she did that night. So if I wanted to do it, I had the freedom to do it and she wouldn’t be there to make sure I failed this time.”

“There you go,” she reaches across the desk and pats my arm. “So it boils down to that you didn’t trust yourself.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “It was scary. Because I didn’t know if I was going to do it again and if I did do it again, Mom wasn’t there to help me if I made a mistake.”

“Do you think you made a mistake that night?”

“No…”

“Quinn,” she leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. “We’ve come a really long way. I remember the first session, you and me almost had it out with each other. Then you kept skipping and I was having to drop you as a patient but then something happened and now here we are. We’ve come a really long way, you and me. And I think we’re to the point where we can be totally honest with each other, yes?”

“Yes.”

“So I need you to start being honest with me. Because I know there are some things you still haven’t been telling me the truth about. And I’m not angry with you, I’m not. I know that you’re not always truthful with yourself. But in order for me to get you to where you need to be, you have to be honest with me. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“What happened that night?”

_ I already told you what happened. I was trying to sleep so I could see Beth in my dreams and nothing was working so I kept taking more and more pills. I took everything I could find in the medicine cabinet and then some. I just wanted to sleep. I told you that already._

“You want to ask me something?” She offers, voice low and polite. She’s trying to level the playing field and it’s not going to work because I have nothing else to reveal about the night I overdosed. I told her everything. “You can ask me anything. Anything that you’ve been wanting to know. I’ll answer you honestly. Completely honest. As long as you’re honest with me.”

“...Are you married?” I eye the gold ring on her finger. It’s really breathtaking and it has to be a wedding ring or something. _ This is a golden opportunity, actually. I’ve always wanted to know a few things about Bailey…._

“Divorced. Two years. I still wear the ring because I bought it myself. Stupid ex-husband told me he’d pay me back the money if I bought our engagement rings and guess who’s never seen a dime? That should’ve been the first red flag, huh?”

I snicker and try not to choke on a laugh. “Men are pretty terrible, yeah.” I drum my fingers along the desk like I’m thinking, but I already have the questions lined up. “Where do you live?”

“Elida, about twenty minutes from Lima.”

_ So they were from Manzetti’s! She lives in Elida! _“You have any kids?”

“I have a ten-year-old little boy who is extremely active and keeps me on my toes. His name is Quinn. Quinn Michael.”

“No way…” my jaw drops. “Why haven’t you ever told me this?! Your son’s name is my name?! That’s so crazy! You never told me!”

“Well you never asked, and these sessions aren’t really about me,” she laughs. “I admit, I was a little biased towards you when we first met and you told me to call you Quinn. I thought I was going to like you immediately. I went home and told my Quinnie that I met a girl with his name and he was tickled.”

“My mom used to call me Quinnie, too.” I sigh but try not to dwell on it for too long because clearly my mother can’t be counted on. No call on my birthday, nothing. “What made you decide to be a therapist?”

“You want the long story or the short story, kid?”

“Long.”

“Long story is that I was a very… not depressed, not neglected, but… a very troubled kid, I’d say,” she looks me right in the eyes as she tells me this story and I hope that one day I can have as much courage as she does to tell stories like this. “I had trouble fitting in, my mom was a single mom who worked three jobs to take care of four kids, we didn’t have much money, I wasn’t popular, didn’t have the nicest clothes… all that jazz. And I was bullied pretty bad in middle school because I was chubby and didn’t have good clothes and nice hair, you know how kids can be. But I was bullied and I resorted to things. I self-harmed, I struggled on and off with anorexia and bulimia. I was in college when I finally got some help. I was a freshman in college and I was a chemistry major and I finally got some help. I had a really excellent therapist and she made me want to be just like her. So now I’m helping kids. Kids younger than me. I don’t want them to have to wait until their in college to face their demons.”

_ Wow. I never would have guessed. I guess I kind of viewed Bailey the same way we view teachers. I didn’t think she had a life outside of this classroom and outside of her office but lo and behold. She has a life where she’s divorced and has a kid and she had an entire life before she was my therapist and quite honestly… my saving grace. She struggled with a lot of the same things as me… maybe I should tell her. Maybe I should tell her that I still do. I mean, it hasn’t been a big problem since I moved in with the Joneses and I mostly only do it at school when I eat a little too much, which is rare. I haven’t done it in a few days. I never do it at home anymore. But maybe I should tell her that I still do throw up sometimes… just so she knows she’s not alone…_

“Hey Bailey, I —“

“That’s enough about me, kiddo. It’s time for you to be honest with me now, okay?” She leans back in her chair again, and I’m starting to notice that she does that whenever she’s settling in to listen to me. “What was the best part of your birthday yesterday?”

“Honestly? Probably seeing Beth.” I tuck my hair behind my ears and it’s going to take me a while to get used to not following my hair down my shoulders when I tuck it. “Shelby brought her over to drop off my present and she let her stay with us while she went to the store. Mr. and Mrs. Jones loved her. And Shelby said I can start watching her over at my house if I want to.”

“That’s pretty awesome, wow. Are you going to watch her at your house or at Shelby’s house?”

“I don’t know. I want to watch her at my house so Mr. and Mrs. Jones get to know her. I mean, I feel like they’re my mom and dad so I want Beth to get to know her grandparents. But I also don’t want her to feel out of place and she’s comfortable at her own house, so. I really don’t know. Maybe I’ll split it. Wednesdays at my house and Thursdays at hers.”

“And how are things going with her? Does she still cry when she’s left with you?”

“No! Which is amazing, actually!” _ I’m gushing. I can’t help it though. _“Shelby left her with me yesterday and she didn’t make a sound. She just laid on my chest and sucked her fingers. The only time she cried was when I tried to hand her to my mom. She cried for me, but that’s it. I think she actually likes me now.”

“See! I told you! She just needed to get used to you. But I told you. Babies know their mothers. They never forget who they grew inside of. I told you Beth still knows you.” She jots something down in her notebook. “And what about Rachel? Did you spend your birthday with her at all?”

“Not really. She wanted to give me time with my family for my birthday since we spent all of Friday and most of Saturday together. And she came over Sunday, too. So she backed off yesterday, but we spent some time together in school. She sang me a song on the piano and gave me this,” I pull my chain from where it was tucked underneath the collar of my shirt. “It has an ‘R’ on it. For Rachel. And she wears one that has a ‘Q’ on it for Quinn.”

“That is really pretty,” she touches the chain with very gentle fingers. “Wow. I’d like to meet this Rachel. She seems fancy.”

“Oh, she is. She’s so high maintenance, Bailey. When we were in Hershey, she refused to eat any of the chocolate because she didn’t see the factory workers prepare it. And she won’t eat anything that has blue dye in it. And she won’t wear jewelry unless it’s real gold or real silver. No cubic zirconia or brass. She’s a literal nightmare.”

Bailey starts to laugh, but she doesn’t realize how serious I am! Rachel is a disaster! “She sounds like a Kardashian.”

“She acts like one! I swear, we went to Cedar Point and she was so mad about having to walk through the parking lot because she didn’t want the asphalt to stick to her shoes. Like… not to brag, but my mother has never bought me a pair of shoes that cost less than $70. And I walked on the asphalt. I was like, ‘Rachel. Get a grip.’ She’s a tough cookie.”

Bailey keeps laughing and I guess it is pretty funny how hard Rachel can be, but it’s even funnier if you know that I can be just as hard as her sometimes. But never harder. Rachel has me beat, I think. “But she cares about you, which is important.”

“She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” I touch my necklace while I think about her because I’m starting to miss her… “She’s… honestly? She’s selfish. But when you get to know her the way I know her, you start to realize that it’s just insecurity. Because when she loves you… god, it’s amazing. There’s nothing she won’t do for you. She honestly keeps me going. There’s… there’s no strong one between us, you know? It’s not like I’m always falling apart and she’s picking me up. I mean, I do fall apart a lot and she does pick me up. But I do the same for her. When she’s weak, she leans on me and when I’m weak, I lean on her. I think… I mean, I know we’re only sixteen and seventeen and we’re in high school. But I really think she might be my soulmate. I really do.”

“That’s really beautiful, Quinn,” she grins at me like she’s actually genuinely happy for me and for a moment, I catch myself wishing that my mom would be that happy for me when it comes to Rachel. But Bailey isn’t my mom, my mother is hardheaded, and she will never be happy for me when I talk about Rachel like that. “...So, are you ready to talk to me about the night your mom found you unconscious?”

“Why do we have to talk about it at all, Bailey?” I sigh. “Don’t you know everything?”

“I know the basics. I know how much you took, what order you took them in and your reasoning as to why you took them. But I don’t hear the truth. So until I hear the truth, yes. We do have to talk about it.” She clears her throat. “You need to be honest with me, Quinn. No more saying that you just wanted to sleep. I know that’s bull. If it was true, you wouldn’t have been so afraid of what you might do when you were left in the house alone. So you need to be honest with me and yourself. You were trying to commit suicide, not trying to sleep.”

I shift in my chair because this is suddenly extremely uncomfortable…

“Can we talk about it next time?” I ask. “We only have a few minutes left and I really want to talk to you about tonight. I’m having dinner with Rachel’s parents and I’m kinda nervous. We can talk about it on Saturday, I promise.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Fine.”

_ Whew… I dodged a bullet there. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I said, it's a short update but I really appreciate you guys and wanted a way to show you guys how much I do. With that being said, I made you guys a little present! Unfortunately, I can't post it here, so you'd have to head over to tumblr to check it out, but I'll leave the link below.
> 
> I just had the idea to make a couple little edits to go along with the story. So I made both Quinn and Rachel's instagram accounts, and you can go take a peek if you copy and paste the link below.
> 
> https://flawlesspeasant.tumblr.com/all-the-best
> 
> Happy Holidays, guys!


	50. You Can’t Hurry Love

**iMessage**

**Tuesday, November 12**

**4:52 p.m.**

**ME: **i’m outside. 

**ME: **should i just park on the street?

**New iMessage**

**Tuesday, November 12**

**4:52 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **You can park in the driveway it’s fine. And just come inside. I left the door open for you. Come inside and make a right.

**ME: **can’t you just come out & let me in?

**ME: **i don’t want to just walk into your house…

**RACHEL: **Quinn it’s fine. You can just come in. I left the door open for this specific reason.

**ME: **i know but i don’t feel right just walking inside.

**ME: **can you please just let me in?

**RACHEL: **Give me a minute. I’m doing something but I’ll be right there.

It’s good that she agreed to come out and let me inside, because she is absolutely insane if she thinks for one second that I’m just going to walk up to the front door and let myself inside. It’s going to be the first time I’ve ever met her dads and nothing says “terrible first impression” quite like barging into someone’s house without knocking or being invited inside, even if you were told that you could.

I unplug my phone from my car charger, take my keys out of the ignition, and grab the Walmart bag from the passenger’s seat. I was going to come over half an hour before Rachel told me to be here, just because I thought that it would make a good impression if I were a little bit early. But as I was leaving the house, Mrs. Jones — I mean _ mom _ — stopped me at the door just so she could get a good look at me. She ran her fingers through my hair, then smoothed a wrinkle out of my dress. She wished me good luck and I thought that I was in the clear, but she saw me grab my purse and nothing else, so then she stopped me again and asked me if I was going to take anything.

To make a long story short, she made me run to Walmart and buy dessert. I know it seems a little minuscule in comparison to all the other things that woman has taught me so far, but as I was doing 70 on the highway to get to Walmart quick enough to make it to Rachel’s on time, I thought about how that little tidbit of advice would stick with me. She told me that I should never go to someone’s house for dinner without bringing at least something, because that’s the polite thing to do. And I don’t mean to get all deep for a moment that isn’t really supposed to be deep, but I know that it’s something that’ll leave a lasting impression on me. She’s parenting me; “raising me right,'' as she would say.

I don’t know if Rachel’s dads are going to eat the chocolate ganache cake that I picked up, but it was the closest thing to the checkouts and I thought it looked pretty tasty. I think it’s the thought that counts.

As I lock my car and listen to the alarm beep, I put the Walmart bag and my phone on the hood of my car and fix myself. I tried really hard to look nice and presentable; like someone the Berrys would actually want to date their daughter. I put on one of my most expensive dresses — the white one with black polka dots all over it that Mom bought me a couple years ago for church dinner — and put a little curl to the ends of my hair. I sat in front of the mirror for a while, trying to get the right combination of concealer and eyeshadow. Then I went through all of my shoes trying to find a pair that would look nice with the dress, and I finally settled on my white Doc Martens. I think I look nice, I hope I look nice.

I feel like I’m going to throw up into the rose bushes that line the walkway my feet slowly “click-clack” along. My legs are wobbly and my head feels like someone took it off, spun it, then put it back on my shoulders.

_They’re going to hate me. I know they are. I’m going to leave later and they’re going to look at Rachel and say, “you should have left that one where you found her. You can do better, Rachel.” I just know it. I’m not good with parents. The only parents I’ve ever met were Puck and Finn’s moms and while that entire few months is a big blur in my head, I know that neither one of those first meetings went over very well. Finn’s mom wouldn’t stop looking at me like I was fragile kitten whose mother left it to die. Then Puck’s mom always looked at me like I was whore. I’d say I didn’t make a great first impression on either one of them and I don’t think I’m going to make one on Rachel’s dads either._

_ What if I just left? What if I just got back into my car, texted Rachel that I was feeling sick all of sudden or something, and went home? I would lie to Mom and Dad and say that it went well. I would even lie to Mercedes. I could just go right home right now and nobody would know the difference. It wouldn’t make a difference. I could just go. I don’t have to put myself through this. _

I have to hold onto the railing as I climb the steps that lead to her front door because I feel like I might fall backwards down them. _ I really don’t want to do this… and I know it’s not fair because she met my parents. She sat through dinner with me and Mercedes’ parents and she took it like a champ. I should at least do the same for her. But I really don’t think I can do this… I’m not good with making first impressions! Most people think I’m a bitch when they first meet me! Before I left the house, Mom told me that I should just be myself and they’ll love me but I don’t think that’s true! If I’m myself, they’re going to hate me! _

_ I’m doing it for Rachel. Even if her dads hate me, that doesn’t mean that she’ll break up with me…. does it? _

I finally make it to the top landing of the steps and I’m about to ring the doorbell. My hand is literally shaking as I go to push the button, so I’m incredibly grateful and so relieved when I see the handle twist and the door opens before I get the chance to push it.

“I said you could just walk right in, you definitely don’t have to ring the doorbell,” Rachel swings the wooden door all the way open, and she even opens up the glass storm door for me as well. “Come on.”

I step into her house and look around, which kind of catches me off guard because it’s not the first time I’ve been inside Rachel’s house, but it kind of feels that way. Even as I unlace my boots and pull them off my feet one by one, it feels totally foreign to me. It’s like it’s the first time I’m stepping foot on the red and gold Persian rug in front of her door. It’s like it’s the first time I’m seeing their family photo with five-year-old Rachel smiling, missing teeth and all, hanging above the fireplace.

“I… I um… I brought… I brought something, because my mom said that I should… I mean Mercedes’ mom said that I should… well, my mom… she’s my mom, and she said that I should…” The words won’t stick together as they come out of my mouth. It’s like I’m trying to bind together pure mush and nothing that I say makes any sense. “This.” I hand her the Walmart bag. “It’s… cake. For dessert.”

“Sweet,” Rachel shrugs and takes the bag off of me. She takes it straight into the kitchen and I want to follow her, I do. Because I feel like her dads are probably inside the kitchen and the best way to meet them is to just rip the band-aid off, right? But it’s like I’m stuck here on the rug. I’m stuck here, just looking around as if I’ve never seen the inside of Rachel’s house before.

I’m just now noticing the staircase to my right, wooden and spiraled with red carpet squares in the center of each step. I’ve been up those stairs once or twice, but I’ve never really noticed how nice and antique the wood is. To my left, the archway that leads into the living room has to be about eight feet high and the only thing I can see is a little glimpse of the gray sofa and the white grand piano. Straight ahead and down a small flight of two steps, I can see into the kitchen with all black appliances. This is Rachel’s house. I’m seeing it in a new light. And as I watch Rachel walk back up the two steps coming from the kitchen, I’m seeing her in a new light as well.

I guess I never really considered that Rachel was like me.

Every time I’ve been over here, her dads have never been home. Their pictures are on the walls here and there and male shoes are in the closet, but it’s almost like they were completely nonexistent up until today. Rachel’s never grounded or never not allowed to do whatever she wants to do, and I was starting to think that maybe she didn’t have rules to follow or parents to answer to. For the few times that I’ve been here, I’ve never seen her wash a dish or pick up things off the floor and it seemed like maybe she didn’t have chores to do. Or expectations. It never occurred to me until today that Rachel is a normal teenager just like me with parents to meet, a house to come home to after school, dinner to eat and homework to do. And it’s the first time I realize exactly what she meant when she told me that she thought of me as unreal once upon a time, because I think she’s pretty unreal too.

“Why are you just standing here?” She asks me and I’m yanked out of the nervous trance I’ve been in. “Are you okay?”

I finally start to notice all the things I usually notice about her, like how she’s wearing her hair and the type of clothes she’s wearing. Her hair is different, not any style I’ve ever seen her wear to school. It’s tied up in a high ponytail and she has strands of it that she either forgot to pull up or intentionally left out. She wears a pair of loose, baggy blue jeans with rips in the kneecaps and a dark purple sweater that hangs off her shoulders. _ Am I overdressed?_

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up,” I admit and lean against the wall for support.

“You’re that nervous?” She brushes her hair away from her face and hands me one of the two waters she brought from the kitchen. I nod my head, twist the cap off, then take a desperate sip. “Well trust me, there’s really no need to be.”

“Were you nervous when you met mine?” I keep my hand on the wall for support as a new wave of nausea washes over me.

“Not really,” she takes her own sip of water. “I was a little bit whenever I was walking up to the door but once I got inside, I wasn’t really all that nervous. I was kinda excited.”

“Excited…? To meet my parents…?”

“Uh-huh,” she nods her head. “It just felt super official once I did. It felt like a real relationship. I met your parents and so now I can officially call you my girlfriend. And not just in secret.” Her cheeks are all red and she is smiling and blushing and she’s really making me feel a bit better about this whole thing. If she can be excited about meeting my parents, I can be excited about meeting hers. “It still feels a little crazy, honestly...”

“What feels crazy?” One by one, I pull my arms out of my wool jacket and hang it on the railing to the stairs.

“...that I get to say you’re my girlfriend.” Her voice comes out in a tone just above a whisper and it suddenly hits me that this is real.

This is real between us. Rachel is my girlfriend, I am hers. She wears my initial around her neck, I wear hers. I get to kiss her whenever I want to and she gets to kiss me. She is my first real relationship with a girl and was my first real crush. She met my parents and they really like her, we are allowed to see each other within the walls of my house. I’m about to meet her parents as well and if by some grace of god they decide they like me, we will be free to see each other here as well. We don’t have to hide. We don’t have to hold hands underneath blankets or look over our shoulders before we embrace. I don’t have to explain to my mother and father that Rachel is just a really good friend, they already know that she isn’t just a friend and they accept it anyway. We don’t have to say that we’re working on a science project just to be left alone upstairs for a little while. We are dating, like girls date boys and boys date girls.

The fire blazing in the pit of the fireplace behind her crackles and the glowing flames cast a light on her face that is unlike anything I can even describe. Her skin glows, soft and golden tan. Her eyes catch the light and shine like little pools of honey. The way she smiles at me makes me feel like I can do anything in this world as long as she keeps smiling. Her smile gives me the courage I need to get through this night.

“You ready?” She asks, holding her hand out in the empty space between us so that I can take it.

“Th-They know about us, right?” I glance at her hand before I take it. “They know I’m not just your friend?”

“They know,” she assures me and grabs onto my hand.

With her own water bottle tilted up to her mouth and my hand inside hers, she banks a right and goes through the living room. We walk past the white piano, past the gray sectional couch and loveseat combo, past the wall-mounted flatscreen TV. She stops at a door that I’ve never seen before, and that’s when I realize that I’ve never been inside Rachel’s living room before.

The set of glass French double doors that she stops in front of are white and perfectly pristine. She turns one of the handles down and opens it. When she does, music spills out into the room around me and I’m still nervous when I follow Rachel inside.

“Finish anything without me?” Rachel puts her bottle of water down on the tarp-covered floor and I close the door behind me because I feel like I should. Rachel picks up a small paintbrush covered in pink paint and dips it into a bucket full of cloudy water.

“Not quite,” her dad nearly shouts so he can be heard over the music blasting from a stereo in the corner. “I can’t figure out where the road should go. What do you think, pumpkin?” With his back turned towards me, he stands in front of a giant mural that takes up the entire wall. His jeans have paint smeared all over them and his white t-shirt has handprints on the back.

_ What are they doing…?_

“I think it should go above the stars.” Rachel marks a place on the wall with her own paintbrush. “There.” She wraps her arm around his torso and squeezes, then guides him to turn around and look my way. “Dad, this is Quinn.”

When he turns around to meet me face-to-face, I feel a bead of sweat roll down the middle of my back and I have to fight off a shudder that the chills give me. The front of his t-shirt has just as many paint stains as the back of his pants and his jeans are covered in paint as well. His thick, black-rimmed glasses sit on top of a nose that almost perfectly matches Rachel’s, and his salt-and-pepper hair is standing up on all ends yet somehow manages to appear totally combed. _ He seems so… normal? _

I don’t know what I was expecting when I met Rachel’s dads, but he wasn’t it. I guess maybe I was expecting someone polished and put together, wearing a suit with really clean hands. I wasn’t expecting someone who seems so laid back and lax about everything. I wasn’t expecting someone who is freely painting on the walls.

“Quinn, this is dad,” Rachel’s eyes flicker between the both of us, as if she’s waiting for something to transpire.

I clear my throat so I can shake his hand and say “hello” with a clear voice, but my hands are all shaky and my voice is going to be all wobbly and _ GOD _ I am about to completely ruin this… _ Say something, Quinn. Say something. Say anything! _

“Hiram Berry,” he holds his paint-covered hand out for me to shake it. “Nice to finally meet you, sweetheart.”

“Quinn Fabray.” My voice sounds like I swallowed a squeaky toy, but at least I said something… “Nice to make your acquaintance, sir.” _ Really, Quinn? Nice to make your acquaintance? Really? What is this, the 18th century? Why are you speaking like you’re being introduced to the Queen of England? What’s wrong with you? _

I slip my hand inside his hand, which is maybe five times bigger than mine and five times rougher. He has dry paint caked underneath his fingernails and a little bit of wet paint still on his palm. When we shake hands, a smudge of black paint is transferred from his hand to mine and I’m really trying not to freak out. 

_ I am way overdressed. I shouldn’t have worn this. Why did I wear this? This dress was $800! It was $800 and I’m wearing it in the middle of a room full of paint. Why did I do this to myself? Why didn’t I wear jeans? Why didn’t Rachel warn me? Why is he painting on the walls? And better yet, why is Rachel painting on the walls too? This room looks like hell! There’s a thousand little paintings on every empty place on the walls. No other furniture in here, just a tarp covering the carpets, buckets of paint everywhere and a stereo system in the corner. What kind of room is this? Please don’t get paint on my dress… _

“Daddy’s not back with dinner yet?” Rachel moves to her own little spot next to his and starts painting a pink heart. _ They’re painting on the walls… this is un-freaking-believable. _“What’s taking him so long?”

He starts painting a black squiggly line exactly where Rachel told him to paint. “He’s grabbing it from Pongo’s. You remember that place across town? The place we took you when you got your first solo in dance class? When we —“

“You ordered me a cake and had the workers come out and sing happy birthday even though it wasn’t my birthday! Of course I remember!” Rachel turns toward me. “You like Thai food, don’t you Quinn?”

“I um…” I stand near the door with my arms folded across my chest, careful not to touch anything with my dress on. “I’ve never actually had Thai food before.”

“Oh, it’s the best. They make these stir-fried garlic green beans that are to DIE for,” Mr. Berry — Hiram, I guess I can call him — turns toward me too. “We always get the fried fish Namtok and the Kung Noodles for Rachel.”

“If you don’t like it, I’ll throw a pizza in for later,” Rachel winks at me which kind of settles me a little bit because I don’t think I’m going to like dinner. 

_ I don’t mean to be so negative about this but I’m just… so unhappy. This isn’t going how I thought it would go… I’m in an $800 dress with paint all around me. Dinner isn’t being homecooked, it’s going to be some kind of suspicious takeout that I’ve never eaten before. And there’s no formal sit-down-and-introduce-yourself yet. This isn’t going how I thought it would…. I wish I would have worn jeans… _

_ Don’t cry. I know you feel the tears coming, but please don’t cry. Just adjust your expectations. I know you’ve been dreaming about this since last night when she told you to come over for dinner. I know you had a very specific way this was supposed to happen inside your head, but it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry. For the love of God, Quinn. Don’t. Cry. _

“You can join us if you want to,” Hiram goes back to painting his mural. “Brushes are in the bucket. Just pick some paint and find an empty spot.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” I shake my head and take a step backwards, even closer to the door. “I’m fine, I’m okay watching. I’m —“ 

Before I can even get my last sentence out, something bright and pink flies across the room at me and it’s a good thing that I flinched when I saw it! It’s a good thing I flinched! Because if I hadn’t flinched and turned my face away from it, pink paint would have splattered me all in the face and hit my eyes instead of my hair!

It’s dripping all down me! It’s in my hair and dripping onto my shoulders! It’s dripping onto my dress! And it’s on my legs and my feet! And my arms! It looks like my dress has pink polka dots in addition to the black ones! And this is going to dry inside of my hair! How am I going to get it out?!

And why is she laughing?! She has the paintbrush in her hand and it’s dripping with pink paint and she’s laughing! It’s not funny!

“Rachel!” I look down and feel my heart shattering inside my chest when I see the pink splats all over my dress. “Look what you did! It’s not funny!”

“It’ll come out with some hot water in the wash, Quinn! Do you know how many cute dresses I’ve gotten paint all over?!” She continues laughing which really makes me want to cry. _ My dress is ruined… my mom — my REAL mom — bought me this dress… _“If you don’t pick up a brush and join us, I’m gonna do it again.”

“I’m not dressed for painting! You didn’t say anything about painting! You didn’t say —“

“Quinn, relax! It’s just a dress! Haven’t you ever done anything spontaneous?!” She picks up the bucket of dirty water with all the paint brushes inside and offers it to me. “Come on. We do this all the time. Don’t we, Dad?”

“Sure do,” Hiram nods and adds some white traffic lines to his road. “Rachel used to call it the reflection room. Any time she had a bad day at school or at dance class, we’d just put her in here with some crayons and let her go to town. Eventually we moved on to paint instead of markers and crayons and… well… it’s just become part of what we do. It’s a great stress reliever. And anytime the walls get full? We just paint over everything and start all over again.”

“So you were allowed to write on walls…?” I ask. _ That’s actually really cool now that he explained it… they just come in here and paint on the walls to express themselves. And whenever the wall is full and there’s no more room for anyone to paint, they just paint over everything and start over again… like a giant easel. Or a giant street mural. That’s pretty damn cool… _

“Only in here,” Rachel puts the bucket down once she thinks I’m not going to take a paintbrush. “Anything goes in the reflection room. It’s fair game in here.”

“Yep, fair game,” Hiram drops the white paintbrush into the bucket and picks up a green one next. “So grab yourself a brush there, little Quinn. We’d love to have a Fabray Original masterpiece on our walls.”

_ Maybe… maybe Rachel’s right. Maybe it’s just a dress… and it can be washed. The paint will come out in the washer… it’s just a just a dress. It’s just a piece of clothing that I could buy ten thousand more of. But I can’t ever buy this moment back. _

I dunk my hand inside the cloudy paint water and pull a paintbrush out of it. There’s a tiny piece of empty wall right beside Rachel, so I stand there and try to think of what it is that I want to paint. Hiram’s painting some abstract picture of stars in the night sky and a road above them. Rachel seems to be painting some sort of heart with blood trickling from it and me…? I think maybe I’ll paint a rainbow. I’ll start with red.

“Alexa, skip to the next song.” Her dad shouts at the speaker from over his shoulder as I paint my first red arch. “Little Quinn, you’re into music, right?”

“Sure,” I go back over the red arch just to make it more vibrant. “I listen to a little bit of everything, being in Glee club and all.”

“Good, then you’ll fit right in here.” He wipes his hands on the seat of his jeans and walks over to turn the speaker volume up. “There’s always music playing here. Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

“Always,” Rachel mumbles and adds more red to the puddle of blood underneath her heart. “Daddy mostly only listens to classical music, though. I hate being in the reflection room with him.”

“Well try this one on for size,” he puts his glasses on top of his head and offers Rachel his hand in a very “May I have this dance?” kind of way. Rachel puts her paintbrush down and lays her hand inside of his and it’s really easy to see where she gets her theatricality from. In a way, I’m really glad to just sit back and watch the two of them converse and interact with each other. It’s a side of Rachel that I haven’t seen before. The side of Rachel that is comfortable within the walls of her own house, comfortable with the man who has raised her.

Needless to say, I’m not surprised when Hiram starts to sing. And I’m certainly not surprised when he actually sounds really good singing, because Rachel had to have gotten her voice from _ somewhere _and maybe it’s not just all credit to Shelby.

** _“I need love, love. Oh ease my mind. And I need to find time, someone to call mine.” _ **He sings to her and twirls her around in a circle and Rachel is lapping it all up. 

...It’s nice that she has a dad who does these kinds of things for her. I even stop painting to watch the way he spins her around in a circle, then dips her like they’re in the middle of an audition for Dirty Dancing or Footloose. 

** _“My mama said you can’t hurry love! No, you’ll just have to wait! She said love don’t come easy! But it’s a game of give and take, you can’t hurry love! No, you’ll just have to wait! Just trust in a good time! No matter how long it takes!” _ **The two of them sing together and dance around every inch of the room together like champion ballroom dancers and it’s really hard to not be happy just watching. They’re so wholesome and it’s really a great glimpse of what Rachel’s life is like outside of school, outside of Glee club and outside of me.

This is the Rachel I wish everyone could see. This isn’t a selfish little Broadway brat who is only concerned about how she looks. This isn’t someone who will step on whoever she needs to step on to get to the top. This is her, in her element, with her father. And suddenly, all my nerves melted away. I’m not so scared to be here anymore and not nervous to meet her fathers anymore. If anything, I am glad that I am getting to know her for who she is.

“Don’t be shy, Little Quinn!” With Rachel tucked underneath one arm, Hiram extends his other out to me and I have never shook my head so fast in my entire life. _ Yeah, no thanks. I’m not making a fool of myself in front of you. Not the first time meeting you. _“Oh, come on! A little Phil Collins never hurt anybody!”

** _“I remember mama said you can’t hurry love! No, you’ll just have to wait!” _ ** Rachel takes my paintbrush out of my hand rather forcefully and throws it onto the ground. I shake my head at her some more but she just yanks me by my arm and makes me laugh and before I know it, the three of us are acting like the tarp is a giant ballroom dance floor. Rachel lines our arms up together like we’re dancing the Tango and I can’t help but join her in singing. ** _“How long must I wait? How much more must I take? Before loneliness will cause my heart, heart to break!”_**

I think we’re about to officially clean up and leave the reflection room, because Hiram shakes a little bit of soap powder into the dirty water bucket to wash the paintbrushes off while me and Rachel continue to goof off.

And I’m not exaggerating when I say that we’re totally goofing off like a couple of little idiots, because she’s busy trying to twirl me in circles and my foot accidentally hits the bucket that Hiram just put a bunch of soap powder inside of, and now there’s soapy water all over the floor.

As soon as the suds flood the floor, me and Rachel stop in our tracks and just look at each other and I’m kind of panicking because we’re probably in a load of trouble for not paying attention. I look at Rachel, eyes wide and fully expecting to be kicked out of the room or screamed at or worse.

But instead of anybody even saying so much as a bad word about the water and the suds on the floor, Rachel grabs my hand and squeezes it tight. And I can barely process what she’s doing before the both of us are on the floor, soaking wet and sliding around in a giant puddle of water and soapy bubbles.

_Okay, that’s it. We just made a huge mess and instead of trying to clean it up, we’re rolling around in it like two pigs rolling around in mud. I’m pretty sure the soapy water is seeping out of the tarp and dripping onto the carpet it’s supposed to be protecting and I’m pretty sure he’s about to yell. This is it. He’s about to yell…_

“You two…” he shakes his head at us with his hands on his hips.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of it!” Rachel springs up off the floor and jumps on his back with her arms wrapped around his neck. “Quinn, get him!”

And I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the part of me that’s still seven and wishes that my dad would have done something like this with me and Frannie. Or maybe it’s the part of me that is still sixteen underneath the layer that makes me seventeen, and that part of me longs to be a kid again. Either way it goes, something comes over me and latch onto Hiram’s ankles and try to trip him.

“Must…” Hiram grunts as he’s trying to fight us off. “Defeat… The angels… of Darkness!” He grunts one last time then eventually gives up and comes toppling to the soapy tarp-turned-slip-and-slide with me and Rachel.

Rachel picks up a handful of bubbles and smacks them on his cheek while I pile them on Rachel’s head. And there’s a part of me that can’t believe I’m rolling around on the floor covered in bubbles and murky water with my girlfriend and her dad.

If this was the Fabray household…

Mom would still be screaming about how she has to call the carpet people to come clean the floors all because of me and my clumsiness. Dad would be yelling about how he’s taking it out of my allowance. I’d be sent to bed without eating dinner. And I’d be grounded from now until eternity. I wouldn’t be laughing about it and I certainly wouldn’t be rolling around on the floor in my mess.

** _“My mama said you can’t hurry love! No, you’ll just have to wait!” _ ** Me, Rachel and Hiram all sing one last time, lying flat on our backs in the middle of the soap and suds. ** _“She said love don’t come easy! But it’s a game of give and take, you can’t hurry love! No, you’ll have to wait! She said love don’t come easy!”_**

Only when the song starts to die down do the three of us hear the doors to the room start to creak open. It’s like we’re in a movie, the way all three of our heads pop up and look to the doorway. Rachel grabs ahold of my hand as soon as I see him because it’s like she knows that I’m nervous all over again through telekinesis or something like that.

He’s shorter than Hiram, but not by too much. And his hair has that same salt-and-peppery kind of look to it except his is curly. And for a while there, I was certain that Hiram was Rachel’s dad. I know they don’t really know, at least not for certain. But I would have bet serious money on Hiram. Now that he’s standing in front of me now too, I’m not so sure. Because he looks a lot like Rachel now, too. And he’s a lot more like what I initially expected. He’s wearing a tailored suit jacket and a tie with some really nice dress pants.

“Daddy, this is Quinn!” Rachel holds our interlocked hands up above the bubbles so he can see.

“Nice to meet you, sir!” I wave at him with a big honest smile and I’m glad that rolling around in soapy water with Hiram has really broken the ice. Sure, this isn’t how I wanted to meet him. I didn’t want to meet him while I’m soaking wet with paint in my hair and my dress dripping, but hey. What can you do?

“I see you three couldn’t wait for me before you started the party.” He crosses his arms over his chest and taps his foot impatiently, but a smile is threatening to break. “Well I hate to break up the little pow wow here, but there’s food in the kitchen that’s going to get cold if it’s not in our mouths within the next five minutes.”

Rachel is the first one up and on her feet, and she helps me up next. Even though my dress is soaked and the fabric is all droopy and sticking to my skin, I still smooth it out when I stand up to try and make myself look as presentable as possible.

“Oh, cute dress honey! I love it! Is it Alexander Wang?” Her other dad walks right alongside me as we leave the reflection room. “Oh no, wait. It’s Sherri Hill, isn’t it?”

“It is, actually,” I nod my head and I can tell I’m going to really like him already. I wish I had a dad that would discuss dresses with me… “It’s from her spring collection. I got it two summers ago.”

“Well you look absolutely stunning in it and your bone structure is flawless,” he offers his hand to me while we’re still walking to the kitchen. “LeRoy Berry, by the way.”

“Quinn. Quinn Fabray.” We shake hands and even though I’m walking a little bit head of him, I can still see him from the corner of my eye when he looks back at Rachel and mouths the words, “love her!”

* * *

“Bon Jovi or Van Halen?” Hiram asks the thousandth question of the hour as he scrapes the last little bit of green beans onto his plate.

“Bon Jovi,” I wipe my mouth with my napkin and shiver as my hair drips down my back again.

“Pizza or tacos?” LeRoy asks while he’s chewing.

“Both.” Since I’m finished, I bawl my napkin up and put it on my paper plate.

I have to admit, her dads are not at all what I was expecting. I was expecting to eat off of fine china and be served a full course dinner. Instead, me, Rachel and Hiram are all eating in dripping wet clothes. We are eating from takeout containers on styrofoam plates, using plastic forks and spoons. We’re not even sitting at the dining room table, which is really nice and hand carved out of real mahogany. Instead, we’re all sitting on barstools at the kitchen island. It’s not what I expected from people who throw parties just to watch the Oscars. It’s not what I expected at all.

Somehow, it’s even better.

“Books or movies?” Hiram asks.

“Movies.”

“Singing or dancing?”

“I’m not the best singer, so dancing.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” LeRoy blows on another piece of fish to cool it down before sticking it in his mouth. “Rachel tells us you’re an excellent singer and she doesn’t lie about stuff like that.”

“I’m not that great,” I look down at my empty plate. I learned something new about myself today. Apparently I like Thai food. “I don’t get like, solos or anything. I mostly just sing backup.”

“We sang Miranda Lambert’s ‘Over You’ for Glee club a couple months ago and she was amazing,” Rachel rolls her eyes and talks louder than me. “I didn’t even know she could sing like that.”

“Was that what you were telling me about, Pumpkin?” Hiram dusts off the last little bit of green beans from his plate. “When you were trying to tell me about your feelings and when you realized you might romantically like other girls?”

“What’s he talking about, Ladybug?” LeRoy asks.

_ Pumpkin. Ladybug. God this whole family is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Her nicknames are so cute! Ladybug. I think I might use that one on her._

“Oh honey, it’s nothing,” Hiram waves his hand at LeRoy and I’ve never shipped two people the way I ship them except maybe Mercedes and Sam and Santana and Brittany. I know they’re Rachel’s dads, but they’re my OTP. “Back when she was still struggling, I sat her down and had a talk about her feelings. She was telling me she thought about another girl in that way when she heard her sing.”

“Yeah, it was then,” Rachel moves a piece of broccoli back and forth with her fork. _ She struggled? With her sexuality? So much that she had to talk to them? There was a moment where she realized she liked me? She’s never told me any of that! _“Hey Dad and Daddy, listen,” she puts her fork down. “I’m gonna take Quinn upstairs so she can change into something dry. And there’s something we need to talk about, so we’ll be up there for a while. We’ll be back down in a little bit? I’ll be back down to help clean up the reflection room.”

“Don’t worry about the reflection room, pumpkin.” Hiram waves at us. “Daddy and I will clean it up. You two go upstairs and get out of those wet clothes.”

“Leave the door open,” LeRoy nods at us.

“Of course.” Rachel grabs my hand as if I don’t know my way up the steps and to her room. She pulls me up the flight of steps and down the hallway, making a right as we turn into her room.

She flicks the light on and her room is exactly the way I remember it, but I’m still seeing it in a way that I’ve never seen it before. After meeting her parents today, everything about her just makes a little more sense. 

“What do we have to talk about?” I ask.

“Nothing, I just wanted to be alone with you.”

Once we’re both inside her room, she closes the door behind us but not all the way. She leaves it cracked open just a few inches, then immediately goes over to her dresser and starts rummaging through the drawers.

I sit down on the edge of her bed and watch as she searches for different clothes to change into. “I thought he said don’t close it…”

“He didn’t say anything about cracking it,” she mumbles and tosses a black t-shirt with a gold star in the middle of it onto the bed with me. “Besides… I’m not gonna make you change with the door wide open.”

“I appreciate that,” I giggle and stand up so I can finally peel myself out of this soaking wet dress and this soaking wet bra and these soaking wet underwear. “I don’t think they’d be much interested in what I have to offer beneath my clothes, but I wouldn’t want to give them a show.”

“Do you want shorts or sweatpants?” she holds up a pair of black Nike gym shorts and a pair of red Adidas jogging pants. “Or pajama pants?”

“Sweatpants are fine,” I shrug and she tosses them at me right where the shirt landed.

I start by taking my arms out of the sleeves of my dress and it’s super hard because it’s wet and it’s clinging to my body and my body is cold. Once my arms are out, I pull the dress down over my thighs and step out of it. My underwear and bra don’t match today because I wasn’t really expecting to get naked in front of Rachel. I have on a pair of gray underwear that kind of should be a thong because the way it rides up my ass, but it’s not really a thong because my butt cheeks do get covered a bit. To be honest, it’s my least favorite pair of underwear but it’s the only pair that won’t leave underwear lines underneath my dress so I had to wear them. Anyway, they’re gray and my bra is black with a pink bow in the middle and I’m so mismatched that Rachel probably wouldn’t be turned on by me if she’d look.

Her, on the other hand…

She steps out of her jeans first, then folds them up. Her underwear are pink and purple and they’re so sheer and so lacy that I feel myself starting to drool. She pulls her sweater up over her head next and that’s when I see that she wasn’t wearing a bra this whole time… and I couldn’t tell. I’m usually all over that! I can usually tell when she’s wearing a bra and when she’s not wearing a bra because my eyes always go straight to her chest. But I couldn’t even tell! Her skirt was soaked and I couldn’t even tell! I think I’m losing my touch…

I’m able to stop staring at her long enough to unclasp my own bra and let it fall to the floor. I have my arms through the holes of the shirt she gave me to put on and I’m about to pull it over my head when I hear her sigh really hard and really loud and really dramatic.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, fixing the shirt around my waist once it’s on.

“Nothing, it’s just not fair how perfect you are,” she pulls her hair through her own dry t-shirt and starts stepping out of her underwear. “You literally have nothing. No cellulite, no rolls, no pimples and no stretch marks.”

“I do have stretch marks,” I lift my shirt up so that my boobs are out again, but I cover my nipples with my hands so that she can only see the skin around them, where my stretch marks are. Look, I know it’s pointless. Rachel’s seen my boobs before, obviously. She’s seen them and even had them in her mouth so it’s really pointless for me to cover up but I can’t help it. I’m just so insecure about my entire body and my boobs are not exempt. “See? They’re right there.” I twist so she can see them where they start, just above my nipple. “They’re just light so you can’t really see them, but they’re there. I got them after all that gross breastmilk came in and they never went away. They could’ve left the boobs and took the stretch marks but no. They took the boobs and left the stretch marks. Now I’m flat chested again.”

“Seriously Quinn, let me ask you something.” She steps into a new pair of underwear and sits down. “I’m being serious too, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Is there anything on your body that isn’t perfect?” She crosses her legs as she sits on the bed and looks up at me with honest curiosity.

“Rachel, I —“

“You have to answer,” she looks away from me. “Because I look at you and I try to find flaws, I really do. But I can’t. You have the perfect face, perfect body, perfect everything. And I just want to know if there’s anything that I’m missing. Any embarrassing birthmarks? Bad scars? Crooked teeth? Anything?”

“Well I —“

“I have my nose. I mean that’s obvious, obviously. But there’s my nose. And then my eyebrows sometimes are a little too thick. And my chin is just… ew. And my —“

“I have really hideous feet.” I prop my foot up on the bed so she can see. “My toes are so long they look like fingers and I broke my pinky toe once doing gymnastics so it doesn’t straighten out anymore. See?” I turn my foot to the side so she can see my crooked toe. “And I have a scar on my buttcheek from when a jellyfish stung me in sixth grade.” I stand up and lift my shirt up and pull my underwear down to show her the inch long straight line where the tentacle got me. “See?”

“You got stung on your butt?” She starts laughing. “Really? On your butt?”

“Yup. Right in the middle of my cheek. I used to rub Mederma on it so it wouldn’t scar, but.” I step completely out of my wet underwear and put her sweatpants on. “There’s a lot of things about me that aren’t perfect, Rachel. But let’s not dwell on it.” I sit behind her and start weaving a braid into her damp hair so that I’ll be all wavy and pretty when she takes it out. _ Her hair is so pretty… _“...So why did you never tell me that there was a moment you realized you liked me?”

“Oh god, you heard that?” She tilts her head down so I can finish the braid. “Ugh. Well… yeah, obviously there was a time. It was stupid, really. We were just singing that song when Mr. Schue assigned us duets and I couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty your voice was.”

“So that was it for you? That was when you realized you might like girls?”

“I guess looking back, I always kind of knew,” she shrugs. “I used to play Barbies and I had tons of Ken dolls but I always made my girls be together. Things like that. But you were the first girl I actually ever wanted to be with.”

“I was?”

“Yes.” She nods. “When I kissed you in your bed that night, it was something I wanted to do ever since we sang that duet together in Glee club. I always put it out of my mind because I thought… I guess I just thought that I was just happy that our voices sounded so good together and it made me want to do something irrational like kiss you. But that thought never went away. It never went away so when I was in bed with you that night and I was brave because I was drunk and you were being so nice to me and we had just eaten waffles and you were answering all my questions… I just had to kiss you. I had to kiss you and know what it was like.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“I’m glad I did too. I went straight to my therapist the next day because I just… I had a breakdown, Quinn. It started to feel like everything was unraveling. It was like I didn’t love Finn and I didn’t love Jesse and I never actually had a crush on Puck like I thought I did. Everything felt like a giant lie. Like my life was a lie. Because how can I actually like boys if… if no other kiss ever felt that good? How could I actually like boys if I’ve never kissed one and missed the way their lips felt like I missed the way yours did? I had a breakdown. I went to therapy and I had a breakdown.”

To that, I don’t say anything. I just lace my fingers inside of hers and squeeze her hand.

“...I’m sorry if it seems like this has been all hard on you, you know? This whole… coming out thing. I’m sorry if it seems like it’s been pure hell for you and easy for me to just accept it and roll with it because of my dads and stuff. I mean, I know it’s been harder on you in general because you didn’t have a safe place to come out and your parents really suck. So I’m sorry. But… it hasn’t been easy for me either, Quinn? I’m sorry if it’s been feeling that way for you. But it hasn’t. It’s been hell for me too.”

“Don’t apologize,” I mumble. “Listen, Rachel. I’m so glad and so happy that you have the dads you do. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. Coming out is hard. It’s messy and it’s hard and it’s a lot to accept. And I know it hasn’t been completely easy for you, I know that. But I’m just SO glad that you didn’t have to go through what I went through. I’m so glad your dads are so amazing.”

“They are pretty amazing, huh?” Her eyes are glistening but I don’t think she’s going to let her tears fall. “They’re so amazing…” she whispers. “They give me everything a girl could want, unconditional love, support…” she puts her head down. “...So why am I chasing some stupid fantasy with Shelby?”

“Hey,” I wrap my arms around her the second I see tears rolling down her beautiful cheeks. “Hey… you’re not wrong for that, okay? Okay? That’s completely natural. Just because you wonder about where you’re from and who you come from doesn’t mean that you’re not grateful and appreciative of your dads. It’s totally normal for you to wonder about Shelby and completely natural for you to want a relationship with her. You’re always telling me how Beth knows me. How she feels some sort of connection with me. Well don’t you think you feel that with Shelby, too? Of course you feel it. And it’d be terrible to just ignore it.”

“It’s like…” she sighs. “It’s like I want to be open with them about it. I want to tell them that I’m seeing Shelby and speaking to Shelby and… and all that. I want to. But every time I go to do it, I just… chicken out. Because Quinn, they’re so good to me. SO good. And knowing that I see Shelby would destroy them… I don’t wanna destroy them. I want to invite Shelby and Beth over for thanksgiving or something, just to break the ice. But I can’t… I just can’t…”

“Well…” I rest my head on her shoulder so she knows I’m here for her. “Well if that’s something you want to do, I’ll help you think of a way to ask.”

“But I’ll destroy them,” she shakes her head and more tears fall. “How could I do that? What would you do? If you knew that something you did was going to hurt your mother’s feelings, what would you do? How could you just… do it?”

“I did….” I nod my head and stare straight ahead at the wall. This is something I’ve totally blocked out… but I’m really willing to share it with her… “My mom never wanted me to give Beth up. She wanted me to keep her and raise her my own and when I signed the papers, she couldn’t look at me. For the longest time, I thought she was being selfish and dramatic. I didn’t think she really cared, you know? I thought she was just throwing herself a pity party.” I take a breath. “But then I… when we got home from the hospital, I was crying so hard that I laid down on the couch and I fell asleep for a while. And when I woke up, I went upstairs so I could use the bathroom and take a shower because you know, I just had a baby. ...when I went upstairs, I heard my mom in the room we were going to use as a nursery. I heard her in there and she was just… sobbing.” I blink and tears flood my face. “Those real gut-wrenching sobs, too. Like you hear in the movies. And I just… cracked the door a bit, you know? I cracked the door and looked inside and she was there. She was there on the floor with my blanket. She had this… this wool blanket that my grandma had knitted for Frannie. It was Frannie’s then it was mine and then… it was supposed to be Beth’s. She had this blanket in her hands and she was just crying into it…. and that’s when I realized that I really hurt my mother by doing what I did. I hurt her by giving Beth up. And I don’t think she’s forgiven me just yet.”

“Quinn…” she whispers. “I am… so sorry. I didn’t realize… I mean… I never really thought about… everything. Everything that you went through with Beth and with your family and now your sexuality and leaving your house and your mom and… and I’m… I’m just really glad you’re okay,” she nods. “Are you…? Okay?”

“Yeah,” I nod my head at her. “I’m going to be. I… I think I am. I think I’m okay…” my voice gets all cracky and my jaw trembles. “I just really miss her, you know? She didn’t call me or come see me on my birthday. She never calls or texts me to see how I’m doing. I know she treated me really badly sometimes, but she’s my mom… she’s my mom and I really miss her. I really, really miss her, Rachel…”

“Oh, Quinn,” she wraps her arms around me and squeezes. “It’s okay…”

“I called my sister yesterday,” I sniff. “She asked me to call her when I got a moment and I did. And she told me that Mom basically acts like I don’t even exist. I didn’t answer my cell phone, so she called the house phone. She called the house phone and my dad picked up. My dad. And she asked to speak to me and he told her that I was no longer a member of the household…”

“What…?”

“Yeah,” I clear my throat. “He told my sister that I wasn’t a member of the household anymore. And she talked to Mom after she talked to him and she basically acted like I didn’t exist. She just kept saying that she doesn’t know how I am and that I left the family and that’s the end of it. And I just don’t get it… I don’t get how you can stop loving your child… how can they just stop loving me?”

“I’ll never stop,” she holds my hand and looks me in my tear-filled eyes. “I’ll never stop loving you, Quinn.”

* * *

As I lock my car up behind me and shove my key into the lock, I’m smiling because meeting Hiram and LeRoy was a big success. I think they actually liked me! And it was nice to see where Rachel came from!

But as I hang my keys up on the rack and take my shoes off at the door, Whitney and Bobby bombard me with lots of jumps and kisses. And I smell the remnants of dinner in the kitchen. And the soft jazz music is playing from the living room. And the smell of dryer sheets is creeping up the basement stairs. And it’s warm in here. It’s homey and it’s warm and my school picture from this year is hanging on the wall proudly next to Mercedes’ school picture and Mykel’s senior picture. I remember how good it feels to be home. Home. A place where I’m wanted and I’m loved and I’m seen and I’m accepted.

“That you, Quinn?” Mom calls from the kitchen.

“Yeah.” I softly pad down the hallway and into the kitchen. Dinner was chicken and dumplings and even though the Thai food was great, I wish I ate here instead. She sits at the kitchen table, folding up all the dish towels and dish rags. “Need help?”

“Nah, that’s okay baby. You go on up them steps and get you a bath so you can head on to bed. It’s gettin’ late. How’d your dinner go?”

“It was great,” I stand on my tiptoes to reach the package of Oreos in the pantry. “I think they liked me. And they’re really nice guys. I think you’d like them too.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she nods once and finally looks up from folding. As soon as her eyes fall on me though, I feel like there’s something wrong. _ Oh no… what did I do? I know I’m in trouble. She’s looking at me like I’m in trouble… _“Was they there the whole time?!”

“Yeah…?” _ Why is she yelling? Oh no… _

“Are you tellin’ me fibs, Quinn?!” Her eyebrows are wrinkled and she looks scary.

“No! They were there the whole time, I swear!” I put the Oreos back.

“So you gon’ look me in my eye and tell me you and Rachel wasn’t in that house alone at any time?!” She crosses her arms and tilts her head.

“No! What’s this even about?!” I shove an Oreo in my mouth.

“Why are you wearing different clothes than what you walked up outta this house in, girl?!” 


	51. S.E.X.

I’m still trying to figure out how we ended up here. 

I walked through the door and went into the kitchen to say hello and tell her that I was back and dinner with Rachel’s dads went very well. I reached up into the pantry and took three Oreos out of the package, and she accused me of having sex with Rachel while I was at her house because she noticed that I wasn’t wearing the same dress I left the house in.

I’m not used to that, by the way. I’m not used to someone noticing every little thing about me. If I were still living at home with my own parents, I could have walked out the house butt naked and painted red. Mom wouldn’t have known the difference and she certainly wouldn’t have noticed if I came back home a little different than what I left. But here, living under the same roof as the Joneses, they notice everything about me.

If I don’t completely finish the food on my plate at dinner time, Mom is putting her hand on my forehead and asking me if I’m feeling okay. If I don’t come straight through the door and do my homework, Dad automatically assumes that I must not have any because he knows how I like to do my homework right away. Here, they notice every minute detail about me and I will admit that it’s kind of nice. But I sort of wish I could go back to having a mother who was blissfully ignorant.

Anyway, somehow I ended up here on the couch and Mercedes ended up right next to me. After I practically got on my knees and begged for trust and begged her to believe that I didn’t have sex with Rachel despite how much I wanted to today, she dismissed me up to my room. She looked at me with a playful look on her face, rolled her eyes at me and told me to go get washed up for bed. And I thought that was the end of it, I swear I did.

But as I was pulling the blankets back to get into bed, Dad knocked on my door and asked me to come downstairs for a second and I automatically knew that it was either something about Rachel, something about Puck, something about Beth, or something about my real parents. I don’t get called out of my room past nine on a school night for many reasons. Mom usually tries to make sure me and Mercedes are at least in our rooms by nine, so I knew that if I was being called out of my room, it had to be something major.

He pulled Mercedes out of her room too, so I knew then that it was something about Rachel, probably. And I held my breath all the way down the steps. I held my breath until I finally sat on the couch.

When me and Mercedes both sit down and settle in for whatever it is that they’re about to talk to us about, Mr. Jones turns the TV off and Mrs. Jones wheels the ottoman in front of the coffee table so that they can both sit in front of us.

_ Please don’t tell me you’re getting a divorce. That would really suck. I don’t know why my mind has to automatically jump to a divorce, but that just seems like the only logical reason. I’ve watched way too many of these TV shows and lived through too many of these family talks. I know that when the parents both sit down and talk to you, it’s never anything good. But please, God. I know I haven’t been the best Christian lately and I kind of gave up on you. But if you’re listening right now and you can hear me, please don’t let the Joneses get a divorce. Please. This is the only shred of normalcy I’ve ever had and they’re better together. Please. _

“What’s this about?” Mercedes yawns.  _ Your parents are about to tell us that they’re getting a divorce. Either that or somebody died. Take your pick.  _ “Can we make it quick? I’m tired.”

“Me too,” I say under my breath and do my best to avoid eye contact because if I have to look them in the eye while they tell me this terrible news, I might go ballistic and start crying and never stop.

“We don’t mean to keep you from bed,” Mr. Jones folds his hands and rests them on his kneecap. “But we’ve got some things we wanna talk to you girls about.”

“Yeah, your daddy and I been talkin’,” Mrs. Jones puts her hand against her husband’s hand which really relaxes me a bit. “And we think it’s time we start gettin’ real with you two. Mmmkay?”

“Oookay…?” Mercedes looks over at me but I don’t look at her. I feel like if I move my eyes, I’ll cry. I have to wait until this wave of anticipation passes me. “Real about what?”

Mr. and Mrs. Jones both but their heads down, then they look at each other, then they put their heads down again. It’s like they both know what they want to say but neither one of them want to be the one to say it.  _ God, this is going to be really bad. Maybe it’s not a divorce. Maybe someone is dying. Or someone is sick. Or… or no, what if they’re going to give me back? What if they’re making me go home? Oh please, no. No, no. No. I’ll be good. I’ll be better. I won’t ever talk back to either of you, I won’t EVER have sex with Rachel again, I’ll never run away, I’ll never not answer my phone! I’ll be good! I promise! Please! Please don’t give me away! _

Mr. Jones sighs and runs his hand across his smooth, bald head. “We know you are… old enough and —“ 

Mrs. Jones puts her hand up to cut him off and just starts talking for herself. “We know you two be having sex.”  _ Oh my god, seriously?! Is THAT what this is all about?! Oh sweet Jesus, my heart was in my ASS! My heart fell down to my ASS!  _ I clutch my hand over my heart to calm myself back down as she continues talking. “We know it’s a fact of life and we know you two is teenagers. Them hormones is ragin’ and you’re curious about stuff and we know there ain’t nothing we can do to stop it from happenin’.”

“But we wanna make sure that you two are being safe.” Mr. Jones speaks up next.

“My god,” Mercedes slumps her head against the couch and looks up to the ceiling. “You canNOT be serious. You’re really gonna give us ‘the talk’? Right now? At 9:45 at night? I thought we already did this! I thought it was done! In sixth grade when I came home with blood in my underwear, I thought that was the end of it!”

“Yeah, no offense Mom and Dad, but my other Mom and Dad already kinda… took care of it,” I look away because eye contact is way too painful now.  _ God this is really freaking golden. I got myself all worked up for nothing but the sex talk. _

“You two ain’t gotta talk, I just want you two to listen.” Mrs. Jones says and me and Mercedes both exchange a desperate look. “Obviously we ain’t gonna sit here and tell you what goes where and how it’s s’posed to feel when it goes there. And I ain’t gonna sit here and tell you how the plumbing works. But I want some honesty from you two so I know how to go about getting you girls protected. Capiche?”

“Are you asking if we’re virgins?” I cringe when the question comes out of my mouth but I’d rather just hear the question for whatever it is. “...Because I can tell you right now, Mercedes isn’t.”

“Are you SERIOUS right now, Quinn?!” Mercedes punches me in the thigh pretty hard and I rub it in between laughter. “Seriously?! Neither are you!” She punches me in my shoulder this time.

“Yeah, they know that already!” I laugh as I rub the sore spot on my shoulder now. “I’m gonna go ahead and assume they figured that one out after I pushed a baby out of me.”

“She lost her virginity before me!” She points at me and even though it’s dim in the living room, I can so tell that her cheeks are red. “I just lost mine this year and she lost hers last year, so she lost it before me.”

“I was  _ raped  _ out of my virginity, so it doesn’t count. Butthead.” As soon as I say that, I notice how the energy kind of shifts and everyone — mostly just Mom and Dad — grows extremely uncomfortable. I forgot that it’s not really okay to joke about. I mean rape jokes are never funny. Trust me, I know that. But it’s like if I don’t make fun of it from time to time, all I do is remember how bad it hurts and how much it sucks that my first time having sex was with someone who didn’t love me and with someone who raped me. I know it’s a dark thing to joke about. But sometimes I just… have to, you know? “Sorry.” I mumble under my breath once I realize that nobody found my joke funny.

“Look,” Mr. Jones takes a sip of Sprite from his coffee mug on the table. “It doesn’t really matter when you two became… active. We’re not concerned about that. What we are concerned about is that you girls are being safe. We want you to use condoms, at all times.”

“So… in me and Rachel’s case, latex gloves?” Mercedes starts cracking up as soon as I say that and I have to bite my bottom lip to keep my own giggles inside.

“Quinn.” Mr. Jones closes his eyes and Mrs. Jones just rubs her temple.

“Shut up, Quinn,” Mercedes shakes her head and laughs so hard the entire couch shakes.

“What? I’m just asking!”  _ I’m just super uncomfortable and sometimes the way I deal with uncomfortable things is making a mockery of them. I just can’t help it. I don’t really think this is funny and I know they’re just trying to be good parents and educate us on sex issues but I’m SO uncomfortable. _

“I told you we should’ve talked to them separately, ‘Trice.” Mr. Jones mumbles.

“Alright so since you two ain’t take anything we say seriously then fine, I’ll just cut to the chase.” Mrs. Jones clasps her hands together and stands up. “I’m calling tomorrow to make you appointments. ‘Cedes I’m calling to get you in so we can get you some birth control and Quinn I’m calling so you can get a check up.”

“Wait, WHAT?!” Mercedes instantly stops laughing and her jaw drops. “Birth control?! Why?!”

“Because I ain’t tryna be a grandmama at the age uh 47!” 

“Me and Sam are careful! We use condoms and he pulls —“

“Okay, this is where I cut out. You got it from here, right?” Mr. Jones stands up.

“This ain’t up for debate, Mercedes! Your ass is going on birth control.” Mrs. Jones waves her husband away and keeps scolding Mercedes with her finger pointed toward her. “You wanna have sex, fine. I can’t stop that. But you ain’t bringing me no grandbabies home. Nope.”

“Quinn brought Beth home! And you love her!”

“Okay, first of all,” I put my index finger up and interrupt their conversation. “Leave me out of this. It’s you going on birth control, not me. And second of all, my munchkin is perfect. Who wouldn’t love her?”

“It’s not fair! Quinn’s the one who needs birth control. She’s obviously fertile as heck and —“ I whack her with the couch pillow just to shut her up and she looks at me like she would strangle me if she could. “I’m just saying. Why am I the only one going on birth control here?”

“Because last time I checked, you can’t get pregnant having sex with another girl.” Mom starts cleaning up the living room so we can all head to bed for the night. “Now the second Quinn bring home a lil boyfriend, she gonna get the same treatment. But ‘til then, she don’t need nothing. …‘Cept maybe a box of gloves.”

Me and Mercedes both burst out into laughter as we get up off the couch. While I admit that this conversion was a bit awkward for my liking, I’m really glad that it wasn’t anything more serious than what it was and I think that it’s time I stop thinking negatively. I guess it all just boils down to the fact that I feel like they still might decide that I’m not what they want. I’m getting more comfortable here as the days go on and feeling more secure. But I still feel like it’s all going to go hell in a handbasket one day because this is just too good to be true.

I live in a house where sex isn’t taboo. Here, sex isn’t some thing that we just push aside and act like it doesn’t exist. We don’t have to swallow or natural urges and pretend like we don’t have hormones running rampant through our bodies. Here, we talk about the things that make us human and teenagers. And I never thought I would be in a situation with two parents who allow me to do that.

I side-step the coffee table so I can follow Mercedes back up the steps because it’s been one long day for me and I’m exhausted. 

Meeting Rachel’s dads was awesome, but I’m just kinda tired out from it all.

* * *

_ November 14 _

_ I think I’ve mastered the art of not noticing when people stare. _

_ Ever since Jacob Ben Israel posted on Instagram about me and Rachel being a couple, people have started to stare. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sort of expect that because why wouldn’t they stare? Quinn Fabray, McKinley’s hottest and most popular girl in the entire school, just came out as gay. And if that’s not enough to surprise you, then wait until you get a load of who she’s dating. Her girlfriend is none other than Rachel Berry, her self-professed archnemesis. _

_ You see what I mean? It’s a crazy story, one for the ages. So it makes sense that people would stare. But I think I’m starting to master tuning them out because I really don’t notice the eyeballs and the points and the whispers anymore. _

_ Like today, Rachel held my hand and walked me to my class after breakfast. I’m pretty sure people were pointing and laughing at us but in a way, I guess it just didn’t matter because I was happy walking there with my girlfriend’s hand nestled in mine. Maybe someday me and Rachel will be brave enough to kiss at the end of our hallway route but I don’t think that day is anytime soon. Sure we kissed that day Jacob Ben Israel caught us and snapped a picture, but I think we’ve learned to be a bit more careful through that. _

_ On the other hand, I wonder if maybe some people think that me and Rachel are just really close friends and while a part of me feels good about that because it’s safer for people to think we’re friends, another part of me hates it because I’m proud of my girlfriend and I want people to know that. I guess being gay in high school is hard and it’s a process and it’s not one I’ve mastered just yet. _

_ I’ve started to think that maybe if school is the worst we ever get, then that’s okay. It’s eight hours a day with people we don’t like. But after that eight hours, she and I can go home and be whatever we want to be. We can kiss and hold hands and stare at each other. And nobody in this goddamn world is going to care. _

_ Maybe this is what it was supposed to feel like all along, back when I was dating boys. _

* * *

_ November 15 _

_ I don’t think I’m going to eat today. _

_ When me and Mercedes got home from Glee club, we were both starving and decided to eat dinner together before even thinking about our homework. I was so hungry that I forgot to take my shoes off at the door and since it decided to rain today, I had mud on the bottoms of my shoes. I accidentally tracked mud into the kitchen and Mrs. Jones yelled at me and told me to clean it up. _

_ For a minute, I forgot who she was. She stood there in front of the kitchen sink with her hands still wet and sudsy from the dishwater and she yelled for me to get the mop and clean up my mess. Only, I didn’t see her. Instead, I saw and I heard Judy Fabray screaming at me and telling me how careless I am. I was right back in my old kitchen with my real mother yelling at me and telling me what a lazy, sloppy, worthless child I am (in so many words) and it got to me so much that I told her to shut up. I looked Mrs. Jones in the eye and told her to shut up. _

_ She took my phone, which I gave up willingly because I knew that I was wrong. She took my phone and yelled at me some more and I stomped up the steps to my room and I’ve been up here ever since. _

_ The truth is that I forgot to take my medicine this morning and I’ve been kind of moody all day because of it. I stayed up really late last night watching Beth, because Shelby was late getting home. I was so exhausted when I got home that I went straight to bed and I didn’t take my PTSD pill. Then I slept in a little too long this morning and had to rush to get ready in time for school, which made me forget to take my bipolar pill too. And today was like a whirlwind. _

_ I was mad at Rachel because she didn’t save me a seat in breakfast, then I cried alone in the bathroom because the cafeteria didn’t have chicken nuggets for lunch like the menu said they were going to. I don’t even like their ham and cheese sandwiches, but I bought three of them and ate them all one after the other inside the bathroom. When I threw up, I felt happy. No, not just happy. I was ELATED. And I thought I would ride that happy wave for a while, but then I wasn’t happy anymore. I was sad because I told myself that I wasn’t going to throw up anymore. Then I got mad because I got a 98% on my Stats test. Then I was sad again in glee club because Santana didn’t hold my hand like she usually does during our one number for sectionals. So then when I got home and she was yelling at me about my shoes being muddy, I just…. snapped. And I told her to shut up. _

_ And now I don’t think I deserve to eat dinner today so I don’t think I will. _

_ I wonder if maybe I should have taken Frannie up on her offer. _

_ When I called her on my birthday, she told me that mom and dad act like I don’t exist anymore. It made her angry and she told me that she would come home and finish her last two semesters at Bowling Green or Ohio State. She told me that she’d come home, get an apartment for me and her and that she’d be my primary guardian if mom and dad couldn’t get their heads out of their asses. _

_ I told her that I didn’t need her to do that because I’m being taken care of by the Joneses. _

_ But I don’t know how many times I can be disrespectful before they give me the boot, so. _

_ Maybe I should have taken Frannie up on her offer. _

* * *

_ November 16 _

_ She counts my pills. _

_ I didn’t know that she did that, but she just told me that she does before I came up to my room to go to bed. _

_ She asked me to sit with her on the couch and I did. I sat right beside her on the couch and she opened her arms up and I just laid my head down on her shoulder and she rubbed my back. And she told me that she noticed my pills were off by one day and told me that she forgives me for telling her to shut up. She told me that she forgives me, but if I ever tell her to shut up again that I will be picking my lips up off the floor because she’s going to smack them off my face. _

_ It felt good to be back on track. _

_ We sat on the couch for a while because me and Mercedes accidentally got interested in the documentary about Ted Bundy that Mom and Dad were watching. I sat there with my head on Mom’s shoulder and Mercedes sat there with her head on her other shoulder. And the three of us watched the TV until neither me nor Mercedes could keep our eyes open. _

_ I’m tired now, so I’m going to finish what I started on the couch with Mom and go to bed. _

_ But I just thought I should say that she counts my pills. _

* * *

_ November 20 _

_ Two words: _

_ Winter. Formal. _

_ Before the start of today, I was extremely excited for winter formal. The posters just went up to advertise it around school and tickets are only $60 this year and I had ideas for the colors I wanted to wear with Rachel. _

_ But I was sitting in the library typing up my English paper and some guy on the basketball team that I’ve never seen before in my life sat beside me. I thought that he was just going to get up and leave me alone but no. He turned to me and asked me if I would go to the winter formal with him and I politely told him no, but then his tough friend just had to say something. When I saw his friend’s face, I thought he looked familiar. Then I realized that he was the same fat redhead that had a hand in me choking Puck the day we skipped school and went to Cedar Point. _

_ Instead of just letting his friend get rejected nicely, the fat redhead felt the need to tell his friend that I rejected him because I was a “carpet muncher” who wanted to go to the formal with “prude ass” Rachel Berry instead. And while I didn’t cry, it did sting. _

_ Because I guess that will go down in history as my first encounter as getting bullied for being gay. _

_ Anyway, I don’t want to go to winter formal anymore. _

_ I know she was looking forward to it, but I wonder if Rachel would be okay if we just stayed in and ate pizza. _

_ I’m trying not to dwell on the fact that I was called a name and the joy of winter formal was taken from me. I’m trying my hardest to not be sad about it. _

_ So instead, I’m thinking about how I have to go to the gynecologist with Mercedes and Mom today. _

_ Mom wants me to get checked for STDs and lasting trauma from being raped. _

_ Joy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter was short and not much happened in it, but it’s all just leading up to the holidays and I’m so excited for you guys to see what I have planned for the holidays with Quinn and Rachel! Starting with thanksgiving! :) also, I know Quinn’s journals probably seem short and spacey but it’s purposeful. She missed a dose of her medicine and it kind of messed her thoughts up again. I hope you noticed that she was getting better (because of the medicine) but her thoughts are cloudy again. She’ll get better again though! :)
> 
> Happy New Year, guys! Thanks for sticking with me with this story! :D


	52. Rooting For You

"Mercedes?" The only male nurse in the entire building that I've seen so far opens up the door and pokes his head around the corner as he holds a stack of papers that probably has Mercedes' name on them.

I watch from the corner of my eye as Mercedes takes a deep breath and stands up from where she was sitting beside her mom. She doesn't seem nervous as she leaves her coat on her mom's lap, and she acts like it's the most normal thing as she locks her phone and slips it into the side pocket of her sweatpants. _If Mercedes can do it then I can do it._

The nurse starts asking her how she's feeling today and how she's doing and if this is her first visit to the office, and I don't hear any of Mercedes' responses before the door closes behind her. My heart starts to ache a little and my stomach feels like it's being shaken and that same energy radiates down into my leg. My hand is rested flat on my kneecap and my feet are planted firmly on the floor. But I can't get my leg to stop shaking so hard that my chair is starting to move.

_I already know what they're going to do to me. They're going to tell me to lie down, put my arms over my head so they can touch my chest. Then scoot my butt to the edge of the table so they can look down there. I've done this before, I've done all of this before. It's no big deal. It's just a check up. Just a check up. Nobody's going to tell me horrible news, nobody is looking to check and see if my cervix or whatever is dilated because I'm not pregnant this time. I'm not pregnant. I'm just here like normal seventeen-year-olds. I'm just here so they can check me out. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Not pregnant. Just normal._

"You good?" Mom looks up from the copy of the Ebony magazine she was reading.

Ever since I sat down after signing myself in, my head has been in the same position. It's been geared towards the floor, staring at the stain in the light pink carpet and concentrating on it so hard that it moves when I stare too long. I haven't looked up once, haven't even checked my phone. But I don't need to raise my head to know that she's looking at the way my leg won't stop shaking. _Stop shaking, you look like a psycho. You look like a flat out psychopath. Stop shaking._

"Quinn," she closes her magazine and shifts her position in the chair so she's facing me. "You alright?"

She puts her hand on top of mine resting on my kneecap. My eyes flicker over to look at them. Our hands, hers on top of mine. Her long fingernails painted a bold shade of dark red, her knuckles thin and slender like real feminine fingers.

"Uh-huh," I nod my head because something about her touching me just makes me feel like everything is going to be okay.

She keeps her hand on top of mine but opens her magazine back up and continues to read and I don't know how she does it, but somehow this woman knows me better than my own mother. My own mother would push it. She'd turn to me and ask me to really dive in and tell her how I'm feeling right now. She wouldn't hold my hand, she would just demand me to stop shaking my leg and demand me to tell her why I'm acting so "weird." But not her. Not Mrs. Jones. Somehow she knows that just holding my hand is exactly what I need. Somehow she knows that asking me further questions just wouldn't be great right now.

_It's going to be okay. I already know what they're going to do to me. They're going to tell me to lie down and put my arms over my head so they can touch my chest. Then they're going to tell me to scoot my butt to the edge of the table so they can look down there. They're not going to tell me that I'm pregnant. They're just here to make sure everything is okay._

With my head still down, my eyes flicker over to the door. It's not that far away and when they call me back, I could run if I need to… it won't take very long to get to the door and if I sprint as hard as Coach Sylvester used to make me run at Cheerios practice, they won't be able to catch me and drag me back. I can make a run for it.

I can totally make a run for it…

"_It might just be a little cold," he says. I think he's gay. I I had to guess, I would say that he's gay._

"_How's your father? I haven't seen him in a month of Sundays. Not since we switched churches."_

_His voice is about as chirpy and annoying as the bird who sits outside your window at five in the morning and sings you a song. It's the kind of annoying that runs deep enough for you to want to get out of your bed, grab a shotgun, and shut the damn bird up once and for all._

"_He's okay. He's still hanging around and stuff. He just got his twenty year bonus with the company, so he's… you know. Happy."_

"_Still a cheerleader?" He asks. Down below, he moves one swift time and I suddenly feel EVERYTHING. My legs lock up and my body tenses and my stomach starts to hurt. He moves his hands some more and I hear a series of clicks and I don't feel so good…_

"_Y-Yeah," I look up at the light fixture above my head and swallow when it becomes all blurry with my tears. I wonder if he can do this whole exam without actually being down there. I don't like this at all. I wonder if he can take this out of me. "Head cheerleader, actually."_

"_That's exciting!" I see him grab a cotton swab and he lied to me. He told me that he's good. So good that I won't even feel him poking around inside of my body but I feel everything. I feel it all._

_Get out of me! Take that thing out of me, get the cotton swab away from me! Get out of my body! I don't want you in me, I don't… I don't _ _ **consent ** _ _to having your fingers and your medical devices and whatever else you want to put inside of me. I don't consent to it, get out of me, get off, get off, get out, get off…_

"_I just need you to relax a little bit honey," he taps my kneecaps to get me to relax and open them up a little more for him but no. Okay? No. I'm saying no. Please listen to me. I'm saying no. "Legs open."_

"_Kay." I say it and I feel like I'm listening to him and I'm relaxing and I'm opening my legs for him and whatever else he needs me to do, but he keeps tapping my knees. He keeps tapping me. So maybe I'm not as open as I need to be._

_God, I'm freaking out. I'm really freaking out. I have to let the man do his job. Couldn't I have had a girl? Why didn't I say yes to having a female chaperone in the room? They asked, why didn't I say yes? I'm so stupid. God, I'm stupid. But he's not doing anything. He's just doing his job and he's probably _ _gay and he's probably not interested in me and he's not trying to hurt me. My god, I'm really freaking out._

"_Will I get it today?" I ask._

"_Get what?" He puts one of the cotton swabs he used on me inside this tube._

"_The birth control? Will I get that today? I kinda need it today, it's kind of important." Like, really important. I need it today, dude._

"_After I complete the exam, we will sit and discuss viable birth control options for you, honey. Don't worry."_

"_I need the thing. The thing that goes inside, I mean. I need that." I glance over at the posters of the female reproductive system and suddenly I feel like I'm in health class. "No pills, no ring or whatever that's called, no shot. I need the thing that goes inside and stays inside for years."_

"_We can discuss IUDs if that's what you want. There's a few different kids and —" He's suddenly interrupted by a series of knocks on the door. He doesn't get the chance to tell whoever it is to come in before the door swings open. A female nurse pokes her head around the corner and the doctor wheels his stool over to her. She covers her mouth with a file folder and whispers something to him after looking at me. Then he looks at me too. And I don't know how, but I can automatically sense that something is extremely wrong._

"_Thank you, Megan," he mumbles under his breath, then she closes the door behind herself. He wheels himself back over to my exam table and I'm a little confused because he starts to take his gloves off. "Okay, all done," he grins at me. "You can go ahead and sit up."_

_I take my feet out of the stirrups and sit up slowly. For some reason, I thought there was more to this whole thing. I thought he had to do a little more than what he just did and it doesn't really feel like the exam is supposed to be over._

"_So um," he tosses his gloves in the garbage can and starts washing his hands. "I don't think we'll be looking into birth control options for you today, Quinn."_

"_...Why?" I ask but I'm pretty sure I already know why. I already know… I've been queasy all week, my back is sore, my Cheerios skirt doesn't fit the same way it used to, and I'm always tired. But I thought maybe… I don't know, I guess I thought that maybe the birth control would change something…_

"_Well, it looks like you're about four to six weeks pregnant."_

"_...Please don't tell my dad."_

Back when I was still in Pennsylvania, I talked to Jessica about that moment rather extensively. She didn't like that I kept calling myself stupid, but I'd rather call a spade a spade. Back then, I really was stupid.

I guess maybe I didn't actually think that getting birth control would change anything. Deep down, I knew that I was pregnant about three weeks after Puck raped me. Everything on my body just started changing and my period never came. I convinced myself that maybe it was due to the fact that I'd been stressing. After Puck raped me, I stopped sleeping. Because every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was him hovering over me with his sweat dripping down on me. I didn't eat either, and not just because I'm a bad bulimic, mostly because nothing seemed appetizing anymore. I walked around like a tired, hungry, restless zombie. And I convinced myself that my period was late because of that, but deep down, I really knew.

I wanted the thing that goes inside of you and stays inside of you for years. And I guess a part of me thought that the sooner I got the birth control, the better it would be at preventing me from getting pregnant. I didn't want pills because Mom would find birth control pills when she checked my room for condom wrappers when she cleaned it. I didn't want the shot because I heard the shot makes you fat. I needed the IUD and I needed it fast if I was going to stop myself from getting pregnant. It never occurred to me that birth control can't stop anything if you're _already _pregnant, and that was the part of me that was stupid.

Jessica said that trauma makes you do a lot of things that are out of your character, and I guess she meant that thinking birth control could reverse a pregnancy was part of that. In hindsight, I did say and do a lot of stupid things after Puck raped me. In all honesty, I don't know how I got through the first four months of being pregnant without killing Beth. I never ate for her, I hardly ever slept. It took me four months to get those giant vitamins filled at the pharmacy. I'm surprised she turned out as healthy and cute as she did because I was a wreck. It's amazing how I can look back at myself and look back at the things I did when I was suffering and know that I was suffering now. Back then, it seemed like it was the end of the world. Now looking back, it feels like just a minor speed bump…

"Lucy?" A female nurse opens the same door that Mercedes just disappeared behind and calls out for me next.

_This is it. Oh god, this is it._ _You can do this, Quinn. You can do this._

When I stand up, Mrs. Jones takes her hand off my kneecap and closes the magazine so she can watch me. I leave my coat on her lap just like Mercedes and since my leg can't tremble anymore because I'm standing on it, my hand takes it upon itself to start shaking.

_I already know what they're going to do to me. They're going to make me lie down and put my arms over my head so they can touch my chest. Then they're going to make me scoot my butt to the edge of the table so they can look down there. It's okay. I can do this. I can do this. ...Can't I?_

Both my hands are shaking so bad that I feel like I'm having a seizure. I've never really had a seizure before so I don't really know what it feels like, but Frannie used to have them all the time when she was little and her fever would get too high. She's not epileptic or anything, my mom had her checked. But epilepsy does run in my mom's family I guess so every time Frannie's fevers got really high her body coped by having a seizure. I've only ever seen her have three of them and I know what they look like. They look exactly how I'm feeling. Shaky and jerky with no control over your movements. My hands are shaking and I feel like my head is too, but I don't know if it is or if I'm just really dizzy.

My cheeks get really warm and wet all of sudden and I didn't even realize I'd started to cry until after the tears fell. My eyes never burned to warn me and my jaw never trembled. The tears just fell randomly and I think I'm falling apart. I think I'm falling apart…

_I don't think I can do this. I don't think I can lie there and have them stick something inside of me. I don't want anything inside of me. I don't want to do this. Do I have to do this?_

"Sweetheart, it's okay if you're a little nervous," the nurse holds the door open for me and I'm silently thanking god that nobody else is in this waiting room with us. "I promise we'll make this as quick and painless as possible."

"I want my mom," the words roll out of my mouth the same way slobber rolls off Beth's lips sometimes. I didn't even realize I was saying them until they were already out, drooling out and dripping onto the carpet. "I want my mom, can my mom come? Please? I want my mom."

"Is your mom here?" She looks behind me into the waiting room and she looks a bit perplexed, probably because she's looking for a blonde woman instead of the black woman I was just sitting next to. Honestly…? I didn't know I was talking about Mrs. Jones either. I thought maybe when I said that I wanted my mom, I might have been talking about Judy Fabray but the moment I said it, I realized that the only mother I was talking about was Patrice Jones and I really want her right now.

"Is it cool if I come back with her?" Mrs. Jones stands up with both me and Mercedes' coats draped over her arms. "I know you guys got rules about this stuff but if she need me then I wanna come back."

"Of course," the nurse nods. "You can come back with her if that's what she wants. Come on."

"Thank you," Mom wraps her arms around me and walks down the hall that the nurse leads us down. "And can she have a female doctor, please? We'll wait long as we need to, she just gotta have a woman check her out if that's possible."

"Certainly."

* * *

_November 21_

_Sometimes I feel like I take five steps forward and ten steps back. I know Bailey always says that slipping up and having episodes every once in a while doesn't erase the progress that I make, but sometimes I really feel like it does. I don't mean for this to sound all depressing and sad because I'm not. I'm not depressed and sad. I'm just wondering if I'm ever going to really be over the hell that was my life last year._

_Yesterday wasn't so bad in hindsight, but I wish that I could do normal things without constantly being reminded of something that went wrong._

_Mercedes came out of the gynecologist yesterday with birth control pills, and she acts like nothing happened to her. It seems like having a stranger looking at her private parts and fondling her boobs is just the most normal thing. She went to the pharmacy, picked up her pills, and went on about her day. I asked her how it was and she said that the girl who did her exam was funny and made her comfortable and that's really all she said about it. She didn't tense up or cry. She did what most normal people would do. She had her checkup, answered a bunch of questions about her sex life, got her contraception, and went on about her day._

_Why can't I do that? Isn't therapy supposed to make me normal again? I go to therapy every single week and take my medicine the way I'm supposed to, most of the time. But I'm still just a basket case and if that is the case then why am I going to therapy and taking pills?_

_I cried the whole time. _

_I thought I was okay because when I sat down on the exam table and answered questions about my sex life, I wasn't crying. The nurse asked me if I had sex before and I told her yes. She asked how long ago and I told her a year. She asked me how my childbirth went and I told her it was barbaric. She asked me if I was in a relationship with a girl because I put that I was gay on my questionnaire and she didn't seem judgmental when I told her that I am. I even laughed when she asked me if Rachel had been STD tested because the idea seemed absolutely insane. Rachel… with an STD… yeah right._

_My point is that I thought I was okay. I answered all the questions honestly and my blood pressure was fine. I'm five foot, five inches. And I weigh a hundred and twenty eight pounds. The nurse left the room and Mom sat there with me and kept telling me that everything was going to be okay and that she wouldn't leave me alone with anyone._

_But then the doctor came in and she started touching my chest and that was when I started crying. She didn't hurt me or anything. She just slipped her hands up my gown and started feeling for anything out of the ordinary, but I couldn't help it. My face cracked and I started crying because it felt like Puck. I know it wasn't Puck, I swear I know that. And her hands were so much more gentle than his so I don't really know why I acted like that._

_Mom told her that I was raped._

_It was after she was done checking my boobs for lumps. I was crying and she got up from her chair so she could comfort me. The doctor went over to wash her hands and get the speculum or whatever it's called prepped and ready to go. Mom stood by my head, wiped my tears and leaned down to whisper to me. She told me that I needed to stop crying because I was safe and she was right there with me and nothing was going to happen. The doctor looked at me like she completely understood my reaction and I thought that maybe she had dealt with things like this before._

_She came back over to me to start the internal part of my exam and then Mom whispered to her that she was sorry I was acting like this, but then explained to the doctor that I was raped last year and am still working through it. The doctor was super gentle with me after that but I still cried. Mom rubbed my face and made me look at her the whole time because she wanted me to forget what was going on down below but I couldn't._

_I just kept thinking about how internal exams only ever happened while I was pregnant. And I just kept thinking about how being pregnant was not a happy time for me._

_I don't have any STDs by the way. I am STD free and I apparently have no lasting trauma from being raped and having a baby. I am healthy as a horse down below and I don't have breast cancer._

_And I feel like maybe me and Mom's relationship is a little bit stronger now because once you let someone see you get your boobs felt up and your crotch examined, nothing else will bond you quite as tightly._

_It feels weird to call her mom now, but I can't think of any title that is more fitting._

_I do still miss my real mom. I miss her a lot, actually. But I'm starting to wish that maybe I had been born into the Jones family._

_It's starting to scare me knowing that I have to leave them someday, because they aren't my real parents._

_No matter how much I wish they were._

* * *

I think Mr. Schue has officially lost his mind.

I don't know how, but somehow he found out what Vocal Adrenaline and Aural Intensity are singing for regionals and I think he's starting to doubt our song selections, but he doesn't want to change them at the last minute because we've been rehearsing these songs since the week after sectionals and if I do say so myself, we are _actually _killing it. Our opening number is so kick ass with Artie and Finn taking the leads but Kurt and Blaine also have featured parts and Mercedes has a run towards the end. Then as much as I hate to admit it, our second number is pure gold. Rachel and Finn are doing a duet and their voices sound utterly amazing together and I'm pretty sure the judges are going to eat it up. But then Mercedes has a solo at the very end and she is too good for words. I don't have any doubt that we're going to nail it and we're a shoo in for nationals, but I don't think Mr. Schue feels that way.

He's been running rehearsals like a drill sergeant ever since he found out that Vocal Adrenaline is doing a Katy Perry tribute and Aural Intensity is doing songs from Hamilton. I mean seriously, I've been sweating more at Glee club than I've ever sweat at Cheerios practice.

"_**But there are mountains…" **_Rachel is singing on stage with Finn and I'm pretty sure this is when we come out. I can't remember if Mr. Schue says we come out when Rachel says "mountains" or if we're supposed to wait until the chorus to come out…

I guess we go on "mountains", because on the other side of the stage, I see Brittany start walking out and Puck and Sam follow her. We're supposed to walk out with our heads down and our arms flat at our sides because we don't actually sing until the final chorus, so we have to just stand there while Rachel and Finn finish their verses but it's tough because we can't really grasp exactly when we're supposed to walk out. I think Brittany is wrong. I don't think we go on "mountains", but I don't want to be late and miss my mark because then Mr. Shue makes us sit out and watch the entire performance get ran through, so I go anyway. Even though I know Brittany is wrong. I put my head down and my arms too. And I walk out onto the stage as Rachel's still singing.

...And I can't say I'm surprised when Mr. Schue stops the music.

"Why are you guys not getting this?!" He screams at us even over Rachel, who was still singing when the music stopped. "Brittany, you're early! Every single time, you're early!"

Rachel whips around to look at us and I haven't talked to her much today so I really did miss her, but I have a feeling that she's about to say something that is going to make me want to choke her. "You guys don't come out at all while I'm singing. You wait until Finn and I get to the chorus and that's when —"

"I don't need a second teacher, Rachel," Mr. Schue snaps at her.

"I don't see why we can't come out a little earlier," Santana crosses her arms and speaks up. "I mean, how is it fair for us to stand behind stage for the entire song while we listen to the Berry and Hudson parade?"

"It'll take away the focus!" Rachel takes it upon herself to answer and I can feel it. I can feel that I'm going to have to defend her to Santana in a second and I really wish she'd just shut up. Everyone is on edge today because we were supposed to have been dismissed half an hour ago but Mr. Schue keeps making us run it until we get it right and everyone is irritated. Rachel needs to just stop today. "This is number is about me and Finn and nobody in the crowd will pay attention if we have a million people standing behind us saying and doing the wrong things."

"I'm sorry, what?" Santana steps down off the risers she was standing on and gets closer to Rachel. _Oh no, I have to be prepared to stop a fight. I don't want Santana to kill her._

"I'm just saying, if you'd have watched the movie, you see that me and Finn's characters have been longing for each other and the love story is —"

"It's not the movie, Rachel," I mumble in a half-assed attempt to diffuse the conversation.

"But we're playing _characters_! Part of being in Glee club is knowing when to be in character and _act _out some of the parts you're playing and —"

"So you're saying we can't act now?" Mercedes steps in and I wish I had duct tape to tape Rachel's mouth shut. I get what she's saying but she's making this so hard on everyone. I hate when she gets like this. She gets all worked up when she thinks we're not giving her enough control and it drives me insane because everyone wants to crucify her and she doesn't know when to stop! Of course I'm going to defend her but god she makes it so hard.

"I'm saying that I can't carry this whole performance on my shoulders if people are distracted by what's in front of them. That's why you guys wait behind the curtain until I'm done singing." Rachel's tone is super snooty and rude and bossy and I can see the anger building up in Santana…

"Santana," I hold my hand up to stop her before she can even think about doing what I know she wants to do. "Don't."

"On second thought, Santana DO," Mercedes rolls her eyes at Rachel. "Please. Put us all out of our misery."

"Guys just leave her alone," I step between Rachel and the rest of them. "Seriously. We're gonna do the number how Mr. Schue wants us to do the number, okay? There's no need in fighting, we all want the same thing. We want to win."

"You can't keep defending her with that shitty attitude, Quinn," Mercedes comes after me next and I'm really not in the mood. "She insulted literally all of us."

Rachel throws her hands up, "If it's an insult to tell you that you're not pulling your own weight then —"

"RACHEL, STOP!" I put my hand on her chest and push her away. "Just stop!"

"Who died and made you queen?" Santana takes another step towards Rachel when I push her away and I don't think I can hold them both back… "You think that you're so much better than all of us and that —"

"Santana, don't put your own insecurities on me. It's not my fault you're never chosen for solos and —"

"TAKE FIVE, GUYS!" Mr. Schue yells so loud that I swear the floor shakes. "Go get a drink, go get your heads on straight, and don't come back until you're ready to go through this without a single mistake."

I'm so glad he made that argument go away. Really, I am so glad. Because I genuinely think that if they had kept going, Santana might have really hurt Rachel and then I was going to have to hurt Santana and then Mercedes would probably step in it because she doesn't let me fight, then Sam would have pulled her off and then Finn would have tried to break it up and then I would've punched Finn in the face because I've been wanting to do it ever since he called Rachel "babe" at sectionals and then Puck would have jumped in after Finn got hit and then I would have gone full crazy on Puck and it would've been a riot. So thank you, Mr. Schue.

"You okay?" I ask Rachel as we walk side-by-side to the steps that lead off the stage. I jog down the steps first, then wait for her at the bottom.

"I'm fine," she shrugs. "It's not my fault that nobody can handle the truth."

I pick up my pink and purple water bottle and suck on the spout to get a drink of my water that is still cold with ice cubes floating in it. After I take my sip, I hand it to her.

"Why do you have to call them all out, though? They're doing their best. Not their fault performing doesn't come as naturally to them as it comes to you."

She sucks on my water bottle for a second too, then hands it back to me. "So I'm supposed to just let everyone be mediocre? And give everyone a pat on the back for doing their best even when their best isn't good enough?"

"Well, you —"

"I just want to win regionals, Quinn. I want to win regionals and go to sectionals. It's my _dream. _And I'm sorry if I hurt feelings, but I can't hold back when I'm the only one on stage giving it a 110%."

"...The only one? You're the _only _one on stage trying?" _Ouch._

"Don't be like this, Quinn. I just mean that I'm the only one who takes this seriously because this is going to be my career. Nobody else loves performing like me, nobody else —"

"No, I get it," I take a step away from her and nod my head. "I'm not a good enough backup to the Rachel Berry show."

"Quinn…" she reaches out and tries to grab onto my hand but I shrug her off. "Come on, Quinn…"

"I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I? Not a good enough backup dancer, not a good enough backup singer, not a good enough girlfriend, not a good enough lesbian… just not good enough. Not good enough for Rachel Berry."

"That is NOT what I said, you can't twist my words like that. Don't you dare twist my words like that."

She takes a step toward me to close the distance I put between us by stepping away. I don't step away from her this time because I don't want to fight with her and I know that she didn't mean it the way I took it, but it still hurt my feelings and I can't help that. "...I love you?" She tries that one out on me and puts her hand against my cheek.

"...I need a minute," I shrug away from her again and walk away so I can go to the hallway and cool off just a little.

Something about this disagreement feels different between us. All the other times we fought or fell out, it always felt like it was the end of the world and we were never going to recover from it. It always felt like I was going to lose my Rachel for good and like our relationship was over.

But this time, I feel like it's going to be okay. I feel like even though she said something that hurt my feelings and even though I was really annoyed with her and her constant need to crap all over everything that isn't 100% perfect, I know that later on tonight, I'll text her and everything will be fine. This won't make our relationship shatter.

"Hey," I mumble at Santana as I catch her near the water fountain taking a drink. I lean against it and wait for her to be done. "Sorry about Rachel. She can be a real… pain in the ass sometimes, I get it."

"It's fine," Santana sighs and wipes her mouth free of water droplets. "I mean I get it. I wouldn't let anyone threaten or get smart with Britt, so. You know."

"Speaking of Britt," I walk beside her as she starts to return back to the auditorium. "Are you and her going to winter formal?"

"Eh, I don't know," she shrugs. "That kinda stuff is lame. I'd rather save it all for prom. It's gonna be nothing but underclassmen and corny music playing in the gym."

"Well I was thinking…" I yank the door handle and hold it open for her. "If you and Britt wanted to go… like… together, or something, maybe we can make a group thing out of it?"

"A group thing?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Mercedes is gonna go with Sam and Tina is gonna go with Mike. I tried to get out of going and maybe just staying in and eating pizza, but Rachel kinda wants to go, so. If you and Brittany wanted to go too, we could make it a troop thing? If she's not gonna go with Artie, I mean."

"She broke up with him," Santana mumbles.

"What?! When?!"

"Couple days ago. He said something really messed up to her and she didn't like it. Plus she was starting to feel guilty about cheating on him all the time, so."

"So it's decided," I stop walking in front of her so she has to stop walking too. "You and Brittany are going to the winter formal with me and Rachel."

"I don't get a minute to think about this? You know, the thought of spending an entire night with unibrow doesn't exactly have me jumping for joy."

"Stop it," I nudge her with my elbow but give her a look to let her know that I'm serious. She can't call Rachel names in front of me. Not anymore. "I think you'll actually like her outside of Glee club. She a totally different person. And besides…" I sigh. "We can't be the only lesbian couple there, so. You're kinda stuck with going."

"Fine," she smiles at me and even though she's trying to hide it, I can tell that she is actually kind of excited about going. "I just have to think of a way to ask Brittany."

"What do you mean? Just go up to her and say 'hey, we're going to the formal with Quinn and Rachel.' It's not that hard."

"Well yeah, but it's gotta be like… special, you know? You only get one time to ask her to go to winter formal with you… gotta make it special."

"...So I should think of a special way to ask Rachel to go with me? Like a prom-posal… but for winter formal? A winter formal-posal?"

"Exactly. A winter formal-posal," she pats my shoulder. "You got it."

"I'd be _such _a terrible lesbian without you," I shake my head at myself and take my spot on the stage so we can wrap up rehearsing and I think I really meant that. Santana has helped me out so much since I've come out and accepted that I am gay.

First of all, she was my first girl kiss and that helped me not be terrible when I kissed Rachel for the first time. And she was my first sexual experience with another girl which really did help me ease up on freaking out every time Rachel touches me. She gave me advice on how to relax and be good at it when I had sex with Rachel. And she always encourages me to embrace my sexual urges when it comes to Rachel. And how she's advising me on how to be a good (but corny) girlfriend. I don't know what I would do without her, actually…

"Alright guys," Mr. Schue stands in front of us. "I gave it some thought and I think you're just tired for the day, so I'm gonna go ahead and dismiss you in a minute. We're gonna run through Mercedes' solo one last time and then you're done for the day. Go home, get some sleep, come back ready to work tomorrow."

Mercedes climbs back up on the stage and takes to the center because that's where she's supposed to stand for her solo. When we get home, I have to remember to apologize to her for Rachel too. I just know that sometimes it bothers her when Rachel says things because as much as she hates to admit it, she always feels like she's second fiddle to Rachel.

"Alright Mercedes, from the top," Mr. Schue presses the "play" button for her music.

I think Mercedes might feel like I'm choosing Rachel over her and I don't want her to feel that way. She's my best friend in the entire world and I really have no idea where I would he in this world if she wasn't my friend. I love her just like I love Frannie, maybe even more honestly. And I know it sucks that she and my girlfriend always compete for the number one spot, but I really don't want her to feel like I love her any less than I love Rachel because I don't. I may not love her in the same way that I love Rachel, but I certainly don't love her any less than I love Rachel…

Maybe on the way home today, I'll just stop at the Dairy Queen or Sweet Frog or something, just so me and her can have some quality time together. It's been a while since we've done something just the two of us, and I just want her to know that she hasn't been replaced in my heart and I think she's just as brilliant of a singer as Rachel. Yeah, that's what I'll do. While I'm driving home, I'll just make a detour and go get ice cream or frozen yogurt so me and Mercedes can hang out together.

"_**There's nothing I'm not —" **_I can tell when Mercedes goes to take her deep breath so she can hit the highest note of her solo that it's going to be bad. I can just tell by the way she took that breath that she's about to mess up. "_**W-WORT—" **_Her voice cracks the second she goes to hit the note and she stops, clearly embarrassed but mostly apologetic.

"Oh God," Mercedes sighs and buries her face in her hands, more frustrated than anything. "I'm sorry, can we go again?"

I know I'm supposed to stay in my spot because we're supposed to act like we would actually act on stage. If this were to happen on stage and Mercedes would mess up, I'm supposed to stay in my spot and keep singing without missing a beat, but I kind of want to run down to the center of the stage and hug her and tell her that she's amazing and she needs to get out of her head about this solo.

"I'm sorry, I just second guessed myself and then I went for it too late and then it all messed up," she sighs and clears her throat. "And plus I'm getting over a cold and —"

"It's fine Mercedes, we can start again," Mr. Schue goes over to the speaker system. "From the top?"

"Mr. Schue, she hasn't hit that note all week," Rachel says and I close my eyes and bury my face in my hands because I know something else is going to happen where I have to defend her and Rachel is starting to give me a real freaking headache. I wish she would just SHUT. UP.

"I'm getting over a cold, excuse me very much," Mercedes turns around so fast that I think if I don't run down there they're going to get into a fistfight. "I can hit that note in my sleep. I'm just not myself."

"You see Mr. Schue, this is what I mean. You need to reconsider who you're picking for solos. If she can't hit the note in rehearsal then —"

"ENOUGH!" Mr. Shue holds his hand up to her and again… thank god because I can't take the constant bickering with Rachel anymore. She argues with everyone and everyone argues with her and exhausting…

"Thank you, Mr. Schue," Mercedes turns her back to Rachel. "Listen, I'll go home tonight and drink tons of tea and eat a lot of Zicam and I'll be good as new tomorrow, I swear. I'll —"

"Everyone sit down," Mr. Shue points to the rows of seats in the audience and my stomach hurts because I know that whatever is happening next isn't going to be good… "I think Rachel's right."

_No, Rachel's not right. Please don't do this… it will KILL Mercedes…_

"I think we need to reconsider solos," he says. "So we're gonna settle this with a sing-off. Everyone will vote on who sings the song the best between Mercedes and Rachel before we leave today. And whoever wins… well, I just might consider giving them the solo for regionals instead."

_Oh. Fucking. Shit._

* * *

When I pull my car onto the street and slow it to a stop, I don't even want to get out. I don't want to get out, I don't want to go inside and I don't want to see Mercedes. Hell, I don't even want anyone to see me.

Even though I know that they won't be able to look at me and tell that I just left the parking lot of Taco Bell where I ate eight hard shell tacos and washed them all down with three Mountain Dew Baja Blasts, I still feel like they'll be able to smell it on me. I feel like Mrs. Jones will be able to take one look at me and see the bloody vomit that I spewed into the parking lot, and Mr. Jones will be able to see the enamel worn completely off my teeth. Like I said earlier, five steps forward and ten backwards.

I know I shouldn't have thrown up like that but I couldn't help it. I left Glee club today and it was the worst day of my life. Mercedes was mad at me and yelling and Rachel was crying and I felt so caught in the middle. I didn't want to go to Taco Bell and order a bunch of food, I swear. But I didn't know what else to do…

I have to go inside, I know I do. But I don't want to. I don't want to see Mercedes. I don't want to look her in the eye and have her know that I couldn't say that she was better than Rachel today. I don't want to look her in the eye knowing that I didn't vote for her…

"_Alright, the ballots are in. Soon as I read the results, you guys are free to go," Mr. Shue sits on the edge of the stage and goes through Mike's hat that we all dropped our votes inside after Mercedes and Rachel both sang the solo._

_I didn't know what else to do. I listened to both of them sing and both of them are really great. The song doesn't really suit Rachel's voice as well as it suits Mercedes' voice, but Rachel made it her own. The song suits Mercedes' voice very well but she messed up on the high note because she's still getting over being sick… they were both really good. I tried to listen to my heart and vote for who I thought was better but I started to write Mercedes' name, then I thought about how much Rachel would hate me if I didn't vote for her, so then I erased it and started to write Rachel's name but then it felt wrong because I know Mercedes really wants this solo…_

_So then I did what will put me in the clear. I erased both of their names. And wrote down what my gut was telling me to write down instead…_

"_Rachel," Mr. Schue starts unfolding the slips of paper and reading. "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes, Mercedes, Rachel, Rachel, Mercedes… and Quinn."_

_A couple people laugh when he reads my name off the last slip of paper and a couple people are confused, but I mostly feel relieved. I didn't vote for either one of them._

"_Well," Rachel stands up and gathers her purse. "Now that that's settled and the solo belongs to its rightful owner, I shall see everyone at rehearsals tomorrow."_

"_You didn't vote for me…?" Mercedes turns toward me and I can see the anger all over her face. "You seriously didn't vote for me?"_

"_Mercedes…" I look away from her because I can't bear to look her in the eye knowing that I hurt her feelings. "...I… I didn't vote for Rachel, either."_

"_So you just decided to… what? Put your own name on the ballot and stab me in the back?"_

"_Mercedes, come on, you can't —"_

"_Wait, what?" Rachel stops walking and turns to me too. "That was you? I thought it was like, Brittany or something, putting your name on the ballot. You did that? You put your own name on the ballot? You didn't vote for me?"_

"_Guys, what did you want me to do?!"_

"_I thought you loved me…" Rachel shakes her head and I can see tears forming in her eyes. "I thought you… I thought you loved me."_

"_I thought you were my sister," Mercedes stands up. "I guess we all just have to deal with disappointment from Quinn Fabray."_

Maybe Mercedes has calmed down a little bit. Maybe she's not still mad at me. Maybe when I turn the doorknob and go inside, everything will be alright and she won't be angry anymore. It's just a stupid solo. It doesn't really matter. It can't possibly tear apart a friendship and a relationship…

...Can it?

I push the door open and head inside. Whitney and Bobby both greet me as usual. I kick my shoes off beside the door and put the cup with the last little bit of my Baja Blast inside of it on the mantle. The TV is on and playing an episode of Divorce Court, but all I hear over the sound of the TV is the sound of someone crying. No, not crying. _Bawling._

I round the corner to go into the living room to see what's going on and my heart feels like it's shattering inside of my chest.

Mom and Dad are both sitting on the couch, but neither one of them are really watching TV. Instead, they're both comforting Mercedes. And Mercedes is lying on the couch with her head in Mom's lap, getting her hair stroked. She's crying… I mean she's _really _crying… and I've never seen Mercedes cry before. Maybe once like last year or something, but never since then. She doesn't cry. Mercedes doesn't cry. Did I make her cry…?

"I wish I never gotten that stupid cold…" she snivels and hiccups. "I can hit that note in my sleep…"

"I know baby, I know," Mom rubs her cheek and I feel like I should just leave… "Shhhh."

As I back out of the living room, my foot steps on the floorboard that freaks and Mom and Dad finally notice me.

"Where you been at?" Dad asks. "Why didn't you call us and let us know you was gonna be late?"

"I'm sorry, I…" I whisper. "I forgot. I just took a drive on the way home to clear my mind and I forgot. I'm sorry."

"You're not an adult, Quinn. You don't make your own hours and your own rules. And there are rules in this house. We don't ask you for much, we just ask you to tell us where you're going to be at and when you're going to be home so we don't worry about you. You hear me?"

"Yes sir," I nod. "I'm sorry…" my own jaw trembles the way Mercedes' jaw is trembling on the couch and I finally start to cry. I didn't cry at Taco Bell and I didn't cry on the drive home at all. I didn't even cry when the tacos and the soda burned as it was coming back up my throat. But I'm crying now because I can't stand the thought that I made Mercedes cry too…

"Mercedes…?" I whisper her name through my tears. "Mercedes, I'm… I'm sorry…"

"Go away," she turns her head way from me and buries it in Mom's stomach. "That solo meant the _world _to me. You knew that!" Her voice is muffled but I can hear her pretty well. "It meant the world to me and now Rachel's going to get it like Rachel gets _everything. _She gets everything! She doesn't have to work for anything, it all just gets handed to her! I just wanted one chance… one chance to shine."

"I'm sorry!" I wipe my tears away but new ones just keep falling. "I didn't know what to do! I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and I didn't think—"

"You're supposed to be my sister! You're my best friend, Quinn! My best friend and you're supposed to be my sister! I thought we were sisters but that's just not case, is it? You're the same old typical Quinn Fabray. Selfish and shallow. You only think about yourself and your relationship with Rachel and you don't care about anyone except yourself! You don't care about anyone! You say you've changed but you haven't! You're the same! You're the same and you're still horrible!"

"Now Mercedes, wait —" Mom tries to stop her but it's too late. It's way, way too late.

I turn around and run up the stairs, tears rolling down my face. I even slam my door behind me and rummage through my backpack for my journal because I really need to write…

_November 21_

_Mercedes hates me. She thinks that I'm horrible and I'm not a changed person and I should have just voted for her. I should have voted for her like I originally wanted to. Rachel would have understood but Mercedes is hurt. I thought I was doing the right thing by not voting for either one of them but now they're both mad at me and what's the use?! Why do I even bother?! Why do I _

"Quinn," Mr. Jones' voice is outside my door followed by two soft knocks. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," I close my journal and try my hardest to wipe the tears way even despite the fact that my soul is absolutely crushed knowing that my best friend hates me.

He comes inside and closes the door behind himself.

"You okay?" He sits down on my bed. "You gotta excuse 'Cedes. Sometimes she says things when she's mad and they're things she don't mean. Okay?"

"...She meant that though," I sniff. "And she's right. I am selfish and shallow and everything else she said about me. I am. It's just who I am."

"Now you wait a minute," he clears his throat. "You are a lot of things but selfish and shallow aren't any of them. I wouldn't allow nobody selfish or shallow to be up in my house. No way, no how."

"I just…" I sigh. "I didn't know who to vote for. It's my best friend and my girlfriend and they're both such amazing singers… who do I vote for? How to I choose which one to hurt?"

"Now listen to me," he stands up and puts his hands on my shoulders. "You did the right thing. I'm sorry that both the girls are upset with you, but you did the right thing. Okay? You did the RIGHT thing, kid. Don't worry about 'Cedes being angry and Rachel being angry. They'll get over it in time. But you did the right thing and nobody can tell you that you didn't."

"...Promise?"

"Cross my heart," he winks at me. "...I tell you what."

He heads for the door. "Go get your shoes and your coat. I gotta run down to the store for a few things and I think we can both use some time away from here, yes?"

"Yes."


	53. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No mature language in this chapter, but it does deal with subject matter that can be a little uncomfortable to read. I hope I handled these topics in a respectful way and in a manner that doesn’t seem preachy or like I’m shoving it down your throat. It’s just a part of the story I felt needed to be addressed because it would be ignorant of me to act like these such things don’t exist in this story. So I hope you enjoy!

* * *

* * *

**  
iMessage**

**Thursday, November 21**

**5:23 p.m.**

**ME: **hey…?

**iMessage**

**Thursday, November 21**

**5:26 p.m.**

**ME: **i know you’re ignoring me & i know you’re still mad. but i just want to tell you that i’m sorry & i love you. i was put into a very hard place and had to make a really difficult decision and it wasn’t something i was prepared to do. i didn’t want to hurt you or cedes so i just did what i thought was right. i’m sorry if it hurt you & it was never my intention to hurt you. i think you are a beautiful singer obviously & i absolutely love you. i understand if you need some time & space to forgive me but i just needed to say that i am sorry, i love you & i don’t like to go very long without talking to you. text me when you’re feeling better please.

  
  


I read over the text a few times before I actually send it, because I want to make sure that my wording is correct and I’m not going to accidentally offend her even further with anything I say. I have the same feeling in my gut that I had earlier when she told me that I didn’t work as hard as she does in Glee club. It’s the feeling of knowing that everything is going to be okay. It’s the complete opposite feeling that I usually have when my emotions flood me and I’m full of despair knowing that our relationship is fragile and it might break. This feeling is different. This feeling knows that me and Rachel’s relationship will withstand this.

Dad puts the car in park as we stop in a spot that’s closest to the door, and I press “send” on the text message just as he takes the keys out of the ignition. I’m not exactly sure what we came to Giant Eagle to buy because it’s not like we need groceries in the house. Mom does the grocery shopping every Monday and we’re still pretty stocked up in the pantry even though it’s Thursday.

Part of me feels like I should have stayed home and tried to patch things up with Mercedes, because she’s the one I’m worried about right now. If Rachel really is getting the solo now, then I know she’ll be okay. She’s a little angry with me for not voting for her but in the end, she’s getting what she wants so I know she’ll be fine. Mercedes, on the other hand, could possibly be mad at me from now until the end of time and I can handle a lot of things, but Mercedes being mad at me isn’t one of them. Granted, my vote wouldn’t have changed the outcome of anything because Rachel won by a landslide, but I think it’s the principle of the thing that’s getting Mercedes down. Maybe I should have stayed home and tried to fix things with her. But I just really needed to get away from her for a moment, before she started saying more things to hurt my feelings.

“You gonna push the buggy or you want me to?” Dad asks as soon as we walk through the automatic doors. He stops at the row of shopping carts lined up next to the door and points to one.

“I can push it,” I shrug and grab the only one that isn’t wet from being outside in the middle of this morning’s Lima rainstorm. I lean against the top railing of the cart and follow Dad as he walks because I don’t know which aisles he needs to actually go to.

“So what happened?” He asks, talking to me from over his shoulder as he stops and looks at the thousand types of toothpaste in the oral care aisle.

“What do you mean?” I put both my feet on the cart like it’s a scooter and balance on it the way I used to do when I was seven. My other mom used to yell at me when I did that because she didn’t think that I was acting “civilized.” It’s funny because when I’m with the Joneses — both Mr. and Mrs. — I want to do the things that I would have done as a kid. They make me feel like a baby again.

“After school today,” he picks up two packages of Crest Plus Whitening toothpaste and a bottle of mouthwash. “I got ‘Cedes side of the story, now I want yours.”

“It basically happened exactly how Mercedes told you it happened,” I sigh and follow him to the next aisle, still using the shopping cart as a scooter. “She’s still getting over that cold and she had to practice her solo. She botched the last note and Mr. Schuester basically told us that we had to vote on who sung it better, Mercedes or Rachel. Whoever won got the solo.”

“And you didn’t vote for ‘Cedes.” He puts his hands in his pockets and looks around at the deodorant next. “If you need something just stick it in the buggy.”

I pick up a stick of Dove deodorant, the cheapest one I can find, and toss it into the basket along with his deodorant and toothpaste and mouthwash. A few steps further up the aisle, he stops at the soaps and body washes. I can’t tell if he’s mad at me for not voting for Mercedes or if he’s just stating that I didn’t vote for her so he can make sense of it in his mind. I know back at the house, he told me that he thinks I did the right thing but maybe his mind has changed or something. I think I would be mad at me if I were him. I’d mad if the girl I’m letting stay in our house for free and basically taking care of didn’t vote for my daughter. I’d be mad if she played a part in the reason my daughter got a solo snatched away from her.

I know Mr. and Mrs. Jones always say that they view me as their daughter and sometimes I really do believe them. Like when I casually mention to Mrs. Jones that my feet hurt because I’ve been dancing in heels during rehearsals and she takes it upon herself to rub my feet for me, she feels like my mom. And when Mr. Jones goes through my salad and picks out the tomatoes and goes through Mercedes’s salad and picks out the carrots then serves them both to us, he feels like my dad. And on those days, it’s easy to believe them when they say that I’m their daughter. But then there are days like this, where I did something to hurt Mercedes and I can’t help knowing that they would choose her over me.

“I didn’t vote for Rachel either, though.” I step down off the cart carefully so that I don’t fall, then stand right next to him as he looks at the prices of the things on the shelves. “I literally felt sick when I thought I had to choose between them. I thought that choosing neither of them would put me in the clear but now they both hate me,” I look down at my feet and flex my toes inside of my boot. “I should’ve just voted for Mercedes.” I mumble. “I’m so stupid.”

“I’m not listening to you talk like that.” He picks up at least six different scents of body washes and puts them all in the cart. “If you’re gonna talk like that then I’m gonna hand you these keys and you’re gonna go sit in the car. I’m not listening to it. You’re not stupid. Don’t let me hear you say that again.”

“I know but Dad, I —“ As soon as I call him dad, I stop myself and it’s not because I feel weird about calling him dad, because I don’t. I haven’t felt weird about calling him and his wife “mom and dad” in a while because like I said, the titles just seem very fitting. I stopped myself because this woman stopped walking right in front of me and that alone was enough to take me out of the moment, but it _ really _takes me out of the moment when she looks at us.

She stands right in front of me and looks at me, then she looks at my dad, then she looks at me again, then she acts like she was looking for Pantene shampoo the entire time when in reality, she was staring at us. Dad keeps walking, so I follow him but it’s like he didn’t even notice her staring at us. It’s like he didn’t even see her stop just to look at us. And I’m wondering if maybe he really didn’t notice it, because he is just that good at playing it off.

_ Maybe she thought she recognized me from somewhere but didn’t and then it was awkward. _

_ Or maybe she thought she recognized dad from somewhere. _

_ Maybe it was some other reason other than the fact that me calling him “dad” took her by surprise… _

“I just meant that I should’ve gone with my gut is all.” I decide to take a page from Dad’s book and ignore the woman. I push the cart to the next aisle and slow it to a stop so he can toss two packages of women’s razors into the cart. “My gut was telling me to vote for Mercedes but then I thought Rachel would be mad if I did and so I chickened out. I chickened out and wrote my name on the paper instead.”

“Well ‘scuse my French, but I think what that teacher did was fucked up,” he puts one hand on the cart and pulls it along while I half-heartedly push it. “He don’t have no business pitting you kids against each other like that. That ain’t right. He said ‘Cedes got the solo and so ‘Cedes should have the solo. If she’s messing up then make her practice extra or work her butt until she gets it right. Don’t leave her fate in the hands of you kids. That’s a lot of pressure for you kids and this whole thing is supposed to be fun. It ain’t supposed to be about turning friends against each other.”

“Well yeah, but that’s just Mr. Shue,” I shrug my shoulders even though I know he’s right. It’s Mr. Schue who’s wrong in the situation. Mercedes and Rachel aren’t wrong for being upset because it’s not something that should have ever happened. My dad is right. He shouldn’t have taken that solo away from Mercedes in the first place and furthermore, he shouldn’t have expected us to vote on it. That was wrong. “He does things like that. He thinks it’s healthy competition or something.”

“There’s nothing healthy about watching my daughter come home from school crying her eyes out like that.” He reaches to the top shelf and grabs a case of 48 rolls of Charmin. “Nothing healthy about the way he forces you kids to turn against each other, nothing healthy about the way he takes away things that are earned, and nothing healthy about the way he elevated some kids higher than others.” He puts the toilet paper in the cart and keeps on walking. “Didn’t you say you told him about that Puckerman boy, too?”

“Yeah,” I nod and toss makeup wipes into the cart too. “I don’t know why, but I told him.”

“Nothing healthy about the way he lets that punk still be around you, either.” He puts two boxes of dog treats in the cart next, then heads over to the food aisles. “If he was any kind of teacher — any kind of _ man _— he’d keep a rapist far away from his victim.”

“Well, yeah, but there’s no… like… proof or anything. I don’t have any proof so it’s not like he can kick Puck outta Glee club or really do anything to him, you know? I don’t have any proof.”

“Your word should be good enough.” His voice is harsh, cutting straight to the point with no fillers in between. I kind of get the feeling that he doesn’t like Mr. Schue…

And I guess… I guess if I think about it, I can understand why. 

I used to think that Mr. Schue was one of the very few decent guys on the planet. I mean, he seems really chivalrous and he’s liberal and he accepts everyone. He doesn’t care that Kurt and Blaine are gay, he hasn’t said a word to me and Rachel about it, he seems really protective over Santana. He goes out of his way to make sure Artie feels included… most of the time. He doesn’t shame anyone, he always holds the door open for us, and he gives really good pep talks. He believes in us when nobody else does and really has our back around school. I used to think that he was a really solid guy.

But Dad’s making some really solid points and it’s hard to see the false illusion of who I thought Mr. Schue was crumble inside my head. It’s like watching your favorite superhero take off the mask. It’s like going to Disney World and running into your favorite character out of uniform. And you finally realize that they’re human just like you. There’s no magic there, nothing that separates them from me or you. Cinderella’s castle is made of glass and it’s able to be shattered. That’s how it feels when I think about Mr. Schue now.

“You want any snacks while we’re over here?” He asks and he seems to have calmed down quite a bit. “I got some ice cream for ‘Cedes to snack on, but what do you want?”

“I’ll eat ice cream too.”

“I got Butter Pecan for ‘Cedes. What kind you want?”

“They got Rocky Road?”

He grabs an entire carton of Rocky Road ice cream from the freezer and puts it into the cart before he heads to the checkouts, and that’s when it dawns on me that we came here just for ice cream. Sure, we wandered the aisles and picked up little things here and there that we could use around the house. But when we came over to the food aisles, he went straight for the freezer and immediately grabbed Giant Eagle brand Butter Pecan ice cream and that is Mercedes’ favorite. I was a little confused about why we came here at first. We have food in the pantry and all the stuff he grabbed and put into the cart were things that we could have gotten cheaper at the dollar store. But my dad is the kind of man who drives to a specific grocery store, in the most uppity, snobbish part of Lima, just to get his daughter her favorite ice cream at the end of a bad day, and he’s the kind of man who buys little odds and ends to cover up the fact that he really just came here for his daughter’s favorite ice cream.

Now I’m sure that Jared Jones is the only decent man on the planet.

“Dad?” I call him and ignore the various looks of confusion and shock I get from the older white women around us. I start putting our things up onto the conveyor belt so the cashier can check us out.

“Quinntessential.” He mumbles back at me as he rummages through his wallet for his credit card, and he’s acting like he doesn’t notice the way people stare at us again. _ Maybe he truly doesn’t notice. _

“How did you and Mom meet?” I finish unloading the cart just as the cashier starts ringing things up. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s a long story, but I was just wondering.”

“She came up this way for college.” He slips his credit card from his wallet and waits for the cashier to be done ringing so he can pay with it. “She’s from down south, you know. Her folks are from Georgia, but she came up this way for college.”

“Mom went to college?” _ This is news to me. I always thought she never went. I didn’t know she actually did… _“What’d she study?”

“She was studying Social Science up in Bowling Green for a while. Made Dean’s List every semester, got a bunch of scholarships, the whole nine. She wanted to be uh… you know… one of them people who go up in houses and take the kids away if it’s unfit?”

“You mean like a social worker?”

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it. She wanted to be one of them. She wanted to do it all, you know? Get the people who need it some help, make sure the kids are safe, make sure the people who need food stamps get food stamps and stuff.”

“So why didn’t she?”

“She got sick,” he sighs and I think that this might be something that’s hard for him to talk about. But I really don’t want him to stop. I can listen to stories about them all day if he’d tell them to me… “Her junior year, she went in for a checkup and they found something. Treatments made her so sick she had to stop going to school. Then life got in the way. She’s okay now. Been in remission since ‘Kel was a baby. But by then, you know. It got a little hard for her to go back when we had babies. So eventually she just started staying home with them.”

“You stuck by her… even when you found out she was sick…” _ My real parents don’t even love each other that much… _

“Of course I did,” he grins at me. “You don’t let a little bit of cancer come between you and a woman like that. No matter how young you are.” He winks at me which makes me smile and for a second, I forget that we’re here because I upset Mercedes and Rachel. For a minute, I forget about the way my life is. For a minute, it feels like I’m just a normal kid hanging out in a grocery store with my actual biological dad.

“Here, put these bags in the buggy while I pay,” he steps aside to let me through so I can load the bags into the cart so we can push them outside to the car.

“It’s 89.95,” the cashier’s gray curls fall to the middle of her face and she sweeps them away with wrinkly, old fingers. Dad sticks the American Express into the chip reader and before the cashier presses the button to confirm the payment, she looks up at him with the most skeptical look I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face. “Do you have your ID on you?”

Dad opens his wallet up again and searches through it for his driver’s license and I’m really confused. I’ve been to Giant Eagle at least a thousand times with my other mom and she’s always paid with an American Express card. Yeah, it’s pretty pricey to shop here and yeah this is where all the rich people in Lima tend to buy their groceries, so it’s not really out of the ordinary for people to pay with a credit card. Every time we’ve paid with a credit card, we’ve never had to show our IDs. Is this something new that they’re doing now?

Dad hands her his driver’s license and she nudges her glasses up with her finger as if she’s taking a real serious look at it instead of just a quick onceover.

“Everything okay, ma’am?” Dad seems super annoyed, but the tone of his voice is still very respectful.

“Uhhh…. huh….” she raises her eyebrow in a very accusatory way, which makes my stomach start to churn.

“Dad, what’s going on?” I ask as I take a few steps toward him so that I’m right by his side. When I call him “dad”, the cashier looks at him even more skeptically… and then it’s suddenly _ very _clear what’s going on. “Everything’s okay, right?”

“Take the bags to the car, kiddo,” he hands me the keys. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I shake my head. “What’s wrong? She doesn’t believe it’s you? She thinks you stole a credit card?”

“Quinn, just go to the —“

“Why? Why, because he’s black?” I look the cashier right in her eye and she instantly grows uncomfortable. The look on her face is more of a grimace and she looks a little embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed. _ Good. She should be. _“He doesn’t need to steal anything. He probably makes more money in one day than you make in an entire year, he’s —“

“Dr. Jones?” A tall man wearing a red baseball hat with white letters that say something across the front that makes me want to punch him in his face pushes his cart up behind us. “Is everything okay?”

“You know this man?” The cashier asks him.

“He’s my dentist. My wife and I have been going to him for years. Pulled all my kids’ wisdom teeth, gave ‘em all their braces,” the baseball guy explains. “Is there a problem?”

“Not at all,” the cashier the rolls her eyes and hands Dad his license back. “Have a great day.”

“So that’s it?” I wrinkle my eyebrows and address her directly. I’m SO angry right now it’s not even healthy. I am literally fuming! _ So everything’s okay as long as the white guy comes up and says that it is? _“After you accused him of stealing, basically calling him a liar, that’s it? You’re just gonna let us go as soon as the white guy says —“

“Stop your mouth and let’s go,” Dad grabs me by my arm and literally drags me out of the store and into the parking lot.

_ I don’t understand this. How is he so calm about it? How is he acting like he just got pulled over for a speeding ticket or told to go fix his broken taillight? How can he just act like his entire character wasn’t insulted? How can he be so cool and collected and not angry?! How can he just leave like he was the one who did something wrong? _

“We should go back and complain to the manager,” I say as I stop through the parking lot and back to the car. “That was SO rude! That was horrible! She was the most racist person I’ve ever met in my entire life, did you see the way she looked at us?! At you?! I’m going back in there! I’m going back in there and telling her how stupid and ignorant and —“

“You’re not going to do anything besides get in the car and shut your mouth,” he slams the trunk closed after loading all our bags inside of it climbs into the driver’s seat.

“I just don’t understand how you expect me to let that go!” I climb into the car too and slam my door before starting to put my seatbelt on. “You didn’t see it! You didn’t see the way all those people looked at us! Every time I called you ‘Dad’, they looked at us weird and stuff! And you don’t even care?! You’re fine with it?! I just don’t —“

“Of course I’m not fine with it, Quinn! But you need to stop it with the mouth and the attitude!” He yells at me so loud that I’m honestly a little bit scared to say anything else. The tone of his voice nearly made the windows wobble. “I don’t know what your parents put up with before you came to us, but we’re not them! Okay?! So you need to cool it. Now. Before I show you, real quick, how things are handled in the Jones household.”

I press my lips together hard in a desperate attempt to keep my tears from falling, but one rolls down my cheek anyway. I can’t help it. I don’t like for the Joneses to yell at me…

“All this talking back, this not listening, this not following the rules, this telling my wife to ‘shut up’? I’m sick of it. You need to take a minute and think long and hard about the stuff you need to do to get your act together or it’s going to be a LONG road ahead of you with me and Patrice, I can promise you that. We’re not gonna keep giving you free passes for the disrespectful, disobedient shit that you do. So you understand me? I know that you came from a totally different house but that’s over now. It’s over. And my daughters listen to me. They listen to me and they respect the house and respect their elders. I don’t care how mad that lady in there made you, you don’t go around talking to people like you lost your goddamn mind. I’m not raising a disrespectful little kid. If I say I’m handling it, I’m handling it. You stay in a child’s place. Now what would happen if that woman called the police on you? Or had a gun? Or reached across that counter and put her hands on you?! Then we would’ve had some real problems! There’s a time and a place to speak your peace and say what’s on your mind but if I tell you to take your ass to the car then you take the keys, take your ass to the car and do what I say. I know that upset you. It upset me too. But you gotta be smarter than that. You can’t lash out on every person that makes you upset, or every person that displays casual racism. You do that and you’ll be lashing out on every person you meet because this ain’t the last time you’re gonna deal with some ignorant ass people in this world. No, it’s not okay. Yes, it makes you angry. But you put your head up, you smile at them, and you walk away. Because you’re a better person than that. And THAT is how I’m raising you. Do you understand me?”

I reach up and wipe the tears off my cheeks. I can’t stop crying. I don’t know at which point I’m going to stop feeling like they’re going to realize I’m not worth all this trouble and pack my stuff up and send me back home, but I can’t stop feeling this way. I just feel like I’m disrupting their entire lives. Nobody asked them to open up their hearts and their home and take in a messy, mentally distressed, mouthy, bitchy, depressed teenager. And no matter how hard I try to be good and keep my head down so they don’t hate me and send me back home, I keep messing up… I just keep messing up and how many times am I going to get to mess up before they send me on my way? Because they don’t need the stress I add to their lives…

“I said ‘do you understand me’? I want an answer when I’m talking to you.” He says.

“Yes sir.” I whisper.

“Alright now,” he clears his throat and finally pulls out of the parking lot. “Fix your face. Wipe them tears and stop that crying. It’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get it together. Mmmkay?”

“Okay.”

* * *

**New iMessage**

**Thursday, November 21**

**6:16 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **I love you too.

  
  


My phone finally buzzes with a reply from Rachel just as Dad pulls the car into the driveway. He turns it off and I’m about to get out of the car and grab some of the bags from the trunk when he reaches over and grabs onto my arm before I can pull the latch to open up the door.

We rode home in complete silence. I mostly just cried the whole time because… well I guess it’s because my feelings are hurt that he yelled at me. I mean, I get it. Everything he said I needed to hear. He yelled at me the same way he would yell at Mercedes. And everything he said was right. I do need to start acting like I respect them and respect their rules and yeah, it is a little bit hard to do it when I came from a house that had no boundaries and no respect but I need to try. I need to do better and listen to them better and I was out of line in the store. I should have just gone to the car like he said. I deserved to be yelled at. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

He squeezes my arm gently to get my attention, and I let go of the door handle to let him know that he has it. Full and undivided.

“Look,” he scratches his fingernails along the stubble on his chin that he shaved off just last week. “I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. I know you aren’t used to dealing with things like that and I know that was probably a first for you. I lost my cool. I blew up and I’m sorry.”

_ What is with you people and apologizing? First your wife apologizes for not knocking on my door. Now you’re apologizing for yelling? My real parents would never… in fact, I don’t think they’ve ever told me that they’re sorry for things that they do… _

“But you can’t go around yelling at people like that when you’re angry, you hear what I’m saying? It sucks, but that’s the way it is, kiddo. Of course I noticed people staring. They see a black man with a little white girl and they stare. That’s just the way it is. It’s life. It shouldn’t be, but it is. And there isn’t any sense in getting angry about it, because then you’ll be angry for the rest of your life. The only thing you can do is make sure you’re better than them. You hear me? You make sure you’re better than them. You don’t yell and scream and make a scene when they anger you because then that’s danger. Danger for me and danger for you too. That lady had a gun? You and I both would be dead. That lady call the cops? I’d be arrested and possibly shot and you’d be in the morgue identifying my body. You gotta keep your head and be better than them, kid. You gotta.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble and put my head down before more tears fall. “I didn’t mean to make things harder… I don’t mean to make anything harder. I just… do…”

“Ah, Quinn,” he wraps his arm around me and pulls me in so I’m closer to him. “What did I tell you in the store? I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself like that.”

“But it’s true…” I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. “I do make everything hard.”

“You do not,” he rubs my shoulder with the palm of his hand. “What’s that all about? That about what I said? About you not listening and being disrespectful?”

“...I don’t mean to make your life hard…”

“Yeah, well what teenager does? You kids don’t come with an instruction manual. We just take it day by day and try to raise you kids right. You get mouthy every so often, you don’t listen, you break curfew, you don’t tell us where you’re at, you don’t answer the phone… it happens. You’re a kid. Me and ‘Trice knew that going into this. We could barely handle ‘Cedes and her attitude and now we got two of you. We knew that before we took this on, though. We’re prepared.”

“...You’re not gonna send me home?” My jaw trembles, but I look up and look him in the eye. “I’ll try harder, I’ll do better. But just don’t send me home…”

“Don’t send your where? Through those doors right there?” He points to the front door. “_ This _is your home. The only place I’m sending you is upstairs to your room when I get fed up with you. I ain’t sending you back across the train tracks. The only place you’re going is up them steps and to your room. This is your home. For as long as you want it to be.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart.” He rubs my shoulder some more. “This didn’t happen overnight, you know. I think you’re thinking that it happened overnight and that’s where you’re getting all messed up.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been our daughter since Mercedes brought you home the first time. It wasn’t instant and it didn’t happen overnight. We got to know you and got to know who you are as a person and we love you, kid. You aren’t just some kid off the street that we take care of. You are our daughter. Our sweet, spunky, smart, beautiful little daughter. We got to know you that first time you came to stay with us, we got to learn you, we got to love you and now we can’t imagine life without you. There’s nothing you can do to make us throw you away. You’re not trash. So you gotta stop with this fear of us sending you away every time you mess up. You’re our daughter. We ain’t giving up on you.”

“...I love you, Dad,” I twist my body and wrap my arms around him.

“I’m full of love for you too, Harley-Quinn,” he presses his lips to the side of my forehead and pats my shoulder twice before letting me go. “Come on. Let’s go see what your mama made for dinner, I’m starving.”

  
  


**iMessage**

**Thursday, November 21**

**6:23 p.m.**

  
  


**ME: **so… does this mean you’re not still mad at me?

**New iMessage**

**Thursday, November 21**

**6:25 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **I wasn’t ever truly mad. Just shocked and upset. It is what it is though. It must have been crappy for you to have to choose. It did hurt that you didn’t vote for me but whatever. I’m over it. Just needed a minute to calm down.

**ME: **okay good.

**ME: **it was really shitty to have to choose btw.

**RACHEL: **I know. Sorry you had to go through that.

**RACHEL: **I was talking to Finn.

**RACHEL: **Just wanted to let you know.

**ME: **about…?

**RACHEL: **Today. And how it made me sad that you didn’t vote for me. I know you will probably be mad but I just wanted to tell you and be honest with you. He texted me and asked if I was okay. He told me that he thought I sang the song better than Mercedes. He told me I deserved the solo. He told me I was going to crush it. So then I called him and we started talking and he calmed me down.

**ME: **okay.

**RACHEL: **Okay?

**ME: **i mean yeah. he’s your friend so whatever. lol.

**RACHEL: **I knew you were going to be weird about it…

**ME: **i’m not being weird. lol.

**RACHEL: **Lol…?

**RACHEL: **I could have kept it to myself and not told you but I didn’t want to be sneaky.

**ME: **i get that and i appreciate that. i just don’t trust that finn knows it’s all friendly. i trust you. not him.

**RACHEL: **What does that mean?

**ME: **i mean it’s obvious he still has feelings for you & you don’t tell him otherwise. you lead him on and let him think he still has a chance.

**RACHEL: **So I’m not supposed to be Finn's friend because we once dated? Haha

**ME: **i’m not saying that. i’m just saying that you may be trying to be finn’s friend but finn wants to be more than your friend. he still loves you, rachel. & it’s so obvious that he wants to fuck you when he looks at you.

**RACHEL: **Well that’s not gonna happen, soooooo.

**** **ME: **yeah i know that. but does he?

**ME: **unless you don’t want him to know that…

**RACHEL? **What do you mean?

**ME: **idk. nvm.

**RACHEL: **I don’t feel like this conversation is going anywhere. I’ll text you later when we both have time to cool down and come back to this with a clear mind.

**ME: **whatever.

I would probably be more bothered by Rachel’s blatant refusal to text me back if Mom and Dad didn’t have a strict no phone policy at the dinner table. If I was able to actually pick up my phone and dwell on the fact that I think we’re having a fight right now, I would make myself sick with worry over it. But it helps to know that I have to tuck my phone in my lap at the table and enjoy dinner without the distraction.

Mercedes hasn’t even looked at me so I think it’s safe to say that she’s still mad. Dad said that she’s going to get over it eventually but I wish she’d get over it now because I just can’t stand having her be so mad at me.

Mom ladles spaghetti sauce onto the pile of noodles she put on my plate and fishes three meatballs from the pot to put on top. She serves Mercedes after she serves me, then finally sits down to enjoy her own meal. She always serves us before she serves herself. Dad makes his own plate, then Mom makes me and Mercedes’ plate, then she sits down and eats herself. That’s just the way it goes.

“Quinn, lemme see the sprinkle cheese,” she holds her one hand out and mixes her spaghetti sauce and noodles together with the other. I pass the Parmesan to her after adding a mound of it to my plate. “So ‘Kel’s coming home for the holiday on Saturday. We gotta talk about what’s gonna happen when he does.”

“I’m fine with sleeping on the couch while he’s here,” I say through a mouthful of chewed up meat. “It won’t bother me any.”

“Why would you sleep on the couch?” Mom pauses as her fork is halfway to her mouth.

I swallow my meatball and lick my lips. “Well I took his room, so —“

“So he’ll only be home for a few days, he can sleep on the couch. We’re not gonna kick you out of your room.” Mom shovels her first bite into her mouth and starts to talk while it’s full. “He’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Nice,” Mercedes mumbles. “So not only does he have to sleep on a hard twin mattress at school, but he can’t come home and have a decent place to sleep either.”

_ Was that a dig towards me…? _

“You shut your mouth, Mercedes.” Dad shoots her a look and takes a sip of his Mountain Dew. “That’s enough of that. I’m tired of hearing it out of you.”

I try to just keep my head down and eat my dinner, but I can feel Mercedes glaring at me and it’s an uncomfortable feeling.

“When are you gonna get over it?” I ask her with my head still down. “Are you gonna be mad at me forever?”

“I’ll be mad at you for as long as I need to be mad at you for!” She yells.

I slam my fork down. “Well you need to be mad at Mr. Schue, because I’m not the one who —“

“That’s enough!” Mom puts her hands up. “Now look, I know what happened today was tough for the both of you. And it’s okay if you’re both still worked up. It’s okay to fight. You two are sisters, that’s what you do. But —“

“She’s not my sister,” Mercedes shakes her head at me. “I don’t know what she is.”

“Mercedes…” I feel myself about to cry but I choke it back. “I said I was sorry!”

“You should’ve been sorry when you weren’t voting for me!”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything!”

“I said that’s enough screaming!” Mom yells louder than both of us and we shut up. “Now Mercedes, listen to me. I know what happened today sucked. I know, baby. I know. And I’m sorry. But you ain’t gonna be mad at Quinn for what she did because that was not her fault. You can’t expect her to choose between you and Rachel because that aint fair. That ain’t fair at all and you know if it was between Sam and Quinn, you —“

“I would pick Quinn because she’s supposed to be my sister. I would pick Quinn because when Sam is gone, she’ll still be there. And I thought she felt the same…”

_ See, I knew I should have just picked Mercedes… I was going to… why didn’t I…? _

“It’s easy for you to say what you would have done in the situation but you and I both know it would have been a hard decision to make, Mercedes.” Dad steps in. “And you know that.”

“Can you guys literally stop making her the favorite?! Please?!” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that she’s about to cry again. Her voice cracks when she says that… “She gets away with MURDER in this house! Just because she’s not biologically your kid doesn’t mean she needs more love than me! Treat us equally! God!”

_ Maybe I should just go… _

I push my chair out from the table and head for the steps before the tears ravage my face. Mom starts to get out of her chair to chase me, but Dad grabs her arm and stops her because he knows that I probably just need a minute alone to process everything and cry. As I’m taking the steps two at a time, I hear them yelling at Mercedes for saying something so hurtful to me, but the fact of the matter is that I’m not even mad at her.

I shut my door behind myself as the sobs take over my body and I’m not mad at Mercedes. I’m not. Because it must be a really tough thing to lay witness to your parents favoring someone who isn’t even their child.

And I know I’m not thinking clearly, I know I’m not. But maybe I should just go some place where I belong. I don’t belong here. I was stared at in the grocery store today because I don’t belong with this family. I almost got me and Mr. Jones into a heap of trouble because I don’t fit in. I can call them “mom and dad” all I want, but it doesn’t change the fact that they’re not my mom and dad. They’re not my parents. And I don’t belong here.

I should just go to a place where I belong. Even if it’s horrible, at least I never have to worry and wonder about where I fit in. At least I know that I belong where I am.

So I unlock my phone and scroll through my contacts until I reach the number labeled as “home.”

I tap on it and it rings a while. It rings maybe five or six times before I hear rustling on the other end and an eventual voice.

It’s deep, throaty and gruff. Like he swallowed a bunch of gravel and has to talk through it every time he speaks. The sound of his voice makes me freeze. I haven’t heard it in such a long time that I almost forgot what it sounded like. But with just one word and one utterance of a “hello?” I’m quickly reminded exactly what it sounds like. And I’m quickly reminded just how much I used to (and still do) fear that voice.

“Hello?” His strong voice calls into the voice.

I hesitate for a moment but know that if I don’t say something soon, he will hang up. So I say the first thing that comes to my mind, and I say it in a tone so soft that he could miss it if he’s not listening hard enough.

“...Hi, daddy…”

“Francesca?” His voice raises a slight pitch, and he sounds… happy? Yes, happy. “Frannie, is that you?”

“N-no,” I shake my head as if he can see me through the phone or something. “It’s me, it’s… it’s Quinn.”

And I really don’t know what I am expecting next. I don’t know if I’m expecting him to hand the phone to my mom or if I’m expecting to hear him yell for her to pick it up instead. I don’t know if I’m expecting him to talk to me or if I’m expecting him to ask me what I want and then I can tell him that I want to come home. I don’t know what I’m expecting to get out of this conversation, I really don’t.

But I know that I wasn’t expecting to hear a dial tone blaring in my ear after telling him that it’s not Frannie and that it’s me…

I slowly pull the phone away from my ear so I can look at it and make sure I am hearing correctly. Sure enough, my phone says “call ended.”

_ He hung up… he hung up on me… he hung up… _

It’s like something takes over me and I can’t really explain it. It’s not like how I feel whenever I leave my body and watch everything happen. No, it’s much more scary than that. It’s much more… out of my control.

I don’t realize what I’m doing until after I’ve already done it.

Like I don’t realize that my arms swipe everything off my dresser until everything — my perfume, deodorant, nail polish, tampons, books — is in a messy pile on the floor. And I don’t realize that my hands are ripping my pictures off the walls until there’s glass all over the floor. I don’t realize my hands are ripping the blankets off my bed until my mattress is bare and I don’t realize how hard I’m crying until I hear a noise so guttural and animalistic come out of me.

_ They really don’t love me anymore. They actually don’t love me. He hung up on me. He wouldn’t even speak to me. I knew they didn’t love me anymore but it’s real now. It’s real! My parents do not love me anymore. How am I supposed to deal with that? They don’t love me… _

I stand by my door and look at the carnage that is my room. My lamp cluttered all over the floor with the light bulb busted. Glass everywhere. Blankets strewn across the room. Cut on the back of my left hand from the glass. Droplets of blood on the carpet.

The door to my room squeaks open and I knew that someone would come in here and see what I’ve done because I was making so much noise.

But I didn’t think that someone was going to be Mercedes…

“Quinn…” she takes one step toward me and tries to give me a hug the same way she always does whenever she knows I need to be calmed down. “Quinn, what happened?”

“Don’t touch me.” I speak through clenched teeth.

“Quinn, I —“ she touches my arm and I snatch away and swat at her so hard that I make contact with her chest and I hit her pretty hard.

“I SAID DON’T!” I scream so loud that my throat hurts, and she steps back.

“...Mom…? Dad…?” She calls over her shoulder.

“...He hung up…” I whisper so low that only I can hear it which is fine, because I only said it for myself anyway.

I hear footsteps clattering up the steps and it’s not long before her parents are in my doorway now too.

“Quinn,” Mrs. Jones — no, I mean MY MOM — talks like she’s negotiating with someone who just took people hostage. “Baby, what happened?”

“He hung up on me…” I stand there and start shaking like I’m having a seizure again.

“Who hung up on you?” My dad steps into the room and starts cleaning up the glass with his bare hands.

“Who hung up on you, sugar? Who?” Mom puts her hand on my shoulder and when she does, that’s when Mercedes realizes that she’s in the clear and proceeds to put her hand on my other shoulder. “Who hung up?”

“My dad…” I take a deep breath to steady myself but it doesn’t work. I’m still a shaking mess. “I called home… he answered… I told him it was me… and he hung up…” I look Mom in her eye. “Why’d he hang up?”

“That’s it,” Mom shakes her head and if anger had a physical form, it would be her right now. “I swear to god Jared, that’s it. That’s fuckin’ it. I’m done with it.”

“Come on, ‘Trice,” Dad throws the glass into the plastic bag behind my door. “You don’t know if —“

“Nah, that’s bullshit,” she keeps shaking her head. “It’s bullshit and I’m done with it.” She looks me dead in my eyes and makes me look at her. “You are not allowed to call those people anymore, do you understand me? You are not to have any contact whatsoever with them. If they contact you, you bring the phone to me and I will tell them where to stick it. Do you understand me, Quinn? Do you understand me? That’s it. No more. At some point during the Thanksgiving break, we will go over to that house and get the rest of your things, and that’s it. If I find out you tried to call them or text them anymore after today, I will ground you for a month. Do you understand me?”

“I understand…” I sniff. Mercedes keeps her hand on my shoulder so I turn to her next. “...I’m sorry I didn’t vote for you. I’m sorry I… I just… I don’t know, I just didn’t know what to do and I —“

“It’s okay, Quinn,” she sighs. “We’re sisters. It’s our job to fight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, I hope I approached this subject matter in a respectful and tactful way. Please don’t worry that this is going to turn into a political story because it won’t. It’s not very likely that I will address the issues in this chapter again because these types of social issues are not the main focus of my story. I just felt like I needed to include a chapter like this somewhere because it would be foolish and ignorant of me to act like racism and race issues don’t exist in a story where Quinn is being taken in by a black family. While I don’t want to make the race of the Joneses an integral part of the story, it is very important to at least touch on it because I would never want to partake in the erasure of their race. They are black and that deserves to be highlighted and celebrated. 
> 
> I hope I didn’t come across as preachy, and I hope this was done in a way that still makes people comfortable enough to read, but uncomfortable enough to start a conversation.


	54. Sorry

I’m starting to like seeing Bailey on the weekends better than seeing her in school, and I think it might be because she seems so much more like me on the weekends. On the weekends, she doesn’t have to dress like she’s on her way to a permanent business meeting. There are no stockings and neatly ironed dress pants. There are no big flashy necklaces or blouses with dramatic, decorative sleeves. On the weekends, she wears jeans and a baseball t-shirt. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail with strands hanging out and she wears next to no makeup at all.

Maybe I’m just seeing Bailey in a new light after learning about her and realizing that she’s got a life outside of helping me work through my complicated shit. Or maybe we’re both just getting more comfortable around each other in general. Either way it goes, I’d take our Saturday sessions with a bag of McDonalds on the desk between us over school sessions any day.

Bailey scrapes the bottom of the barbecue sauce container with her chicken nugget and pops it into her mouth before peeling back the foil on another container of sauce.

“Well,” she says as she chews. “Who would you have voted for? You know your secret’s safe with me, it’s not like I’m gonna go and tell Mercedes or Rachel. I’m just curious.”

“Definitely Mercedes,” I suck a little bit of my honey mustard dipping sauce off my finger before I pick up another chicken nugget. I can’t believe she and I are about to devour or second 20-piece chicken nugget box. “I think Mercedes deserves the solo. She deserves it and she’s a good singer and she deserves a chance to shine. I just didn’t want Rachel to be mad at me.”

“But things are settled now though, right?” She takes a long sip of her sweet tea and shakes it so that the ice disperses more evenly. “You and Rachel are fine? You and Mercedes are fine?”

“I guess,” I take a drink of my own tea. The truth is that I don’t like sweet tea but Bailey bought it for me and I don’t want to be rude by not drinking it. “Me and Rachel haven’t really talked about it. We kind of had a fight after all of it. She told me she was talking to Finn and I guess I got weird about it or whatever, so we stopped talking. And we didn’t talk in school yesterday either, really. I mean, we did. She sat with me at lunch and we talked about our plans for the weekend, but not really about me not voting for her or her talking to Finn. We just kinda glossed over it. So I guess we’re okay.”

“It seems like Rachel does that often.”

“Does what?”

“Evades things. It seems like if she doesn’t want to talk about it, she just kinda flees the conversation and comes back whenever she thinks it’s all settled down. Does she do that a lot?”

“Every single time we argue,” I admit and grab yet another chicken nugget. “She acts like she’s taking the high road by not responding to my texts whenever we argue. Then she waits like a day or something and then she comes to me and acts like nothing ever happened. It’s super fucking annoying.” Her eyes get really wide when she hears me drop the f-bomb, so even though I have a mouth full of food now, I take the opportunity to apologize. “Sorry. Excuse my language.”

“No, no,” she shakes her head and grins at me. “It’s fine. I just never expected you to say that. But if it makes you feel any better… I get it. Dealing with someone who evades things like that can totally be… _ super fucking annoying. _”

We both laugh as soon as that rolls off her tongue and I don’t know why she’s laughing really, but I know I’m laughing because hearing Bailey cuss just seems so wrong! I didn’t even think words like that were in her vocabulary, but she said it so freely like it’s something she says nearly every day! It sounds so weird coming out of her mouth! Her voice is too squeaky and pure to cuss!

“So how did your parents take it when you and Mercedes had that fight?” She nudges the last three chicken nuggets in my direction, and when I shake my head at her offer, she tosses them in the trash. “Did they like, you know, pick sides?”

“Not really,” I shake my head again and pull my legs up onto the chair with me. Being around Bailey in her office makes me want to get comfortable. “They actually did really good with not picking sides and just trying to see both halves of the story. Like, when I got home from school that day, Mercedes was sobbing and Mom was just holding her. They were sitting on the couch and Mercedes was crying so hard and Mom just kept rubbing her back. So I thought they were going to be mad at me for not voting for her, but they actually weren’t. They comforted her but also comforted me and I was like, super shocked.”

“Why? Were you expecting them to pick sides? Were you expecting them to agree with Mercedes?”

“Kind of,” I admit. “I guess I just thought that they’d be mad at me for making her cry, you know?”

“Because you’re not their biological child and Mercedes is. I gotcha.” She pulls her hair out of her ponytail and starts putting it back up into a neater one. “Well it seems like they do a really good job at trying to make you feel like you’re welcomed. With how they buy you stuff to make up your room and get you a phone and stuff. It seems like they really go out of their way so you have a place where you feel accepted.”

“They do.” I look down at the carpet because I felt a tear coming on for a second but it’s passed now. “Like on Thursday after me and Mercedes has that argument at the dinner table, I went upstairs to call my mom. My real mom, I mean. I went upstairs to call her because… because I guess I just… thought that it would be better for me to come home. I guess I —“

“Why would you think that? Why would you think that going home would be better than staying right where you are?”

“Because sometimes I feel like I’m a burden to them.” I look back down at the carpet because that same tear is coming on stronger and I don’t know if I can fight it this time. “They do a lot for me. They took me in while I was pregnant and they took me in again. Now they’re literally letting me stay with them for free, taking on the role of my parents and I just… I just know that I’m not their responsibility. So when I do things like mouth off or not listen or make their daughter cry by not voting for her…”

“You think they’re going to think you’re not worth it?”

“Yeah?” I shrug. “I guess? I don’t know. I just thought that going home would make me feel better because at least then I belong. If I go out to the store with my mom, I’m not going to get weird looks because I’m white and she’s black. If I mouth off or do something bad, she has no choice but to take care of me because I’m actually her kid, you know? I thought that going home would make me feel better about everything. But he hung up on me…” I bite my lip as the tears roll down. “He freaking hung up on me.”

“Your dad answered the phone?”

“Yep,” I sigh. “He answered the phone and asked if I was Frannie. The second I told him it was me? Click. And I just don’t understand how a parent could do that to their child, Bailey. I don’t get it. I could never do that to my daughter, I could never just wake up one day and decide that I’m done loving her.”

“Well Quinn, you know…” She takes her glasses off like she always does whenever she’s about to say something poignant. “Sometimes, it’s hard for us to admit that our parents are doing something wrong. They’re our parents and we want to see the absolute best in them always because we know that they did their best for us. You know? Our parents are our heroes and we don’t want to ever belittle them or make them feel bad. So we just tend to brush over the things they do wrong and throw blinders on so we don’t see them. But admitting that our parents are wrong doesn’t mean we love them any less, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Your parents suck, Quinn.” She says that so bluntly, so matter-of-factly, that I lift my head and look at her to make sure I actually heard her right. She smirks trying to hold back her laughter, and she does a pretty decent job. “I’m sorry to put it that way, but they do. I know your mom wasn’t always horrible and she had her good moments. And I know your dad had a few good moments there too. But your parents suck and you need to lower your expectations for them. Stop expecting them to behave like normal, sane, rational, decent people. Because they’re not. Your mom is too selfish to be a mother, she’s just not equipped for it. And that’s okay because some people just aren’t. She’s worried about pleasing your father before pleasing her kids and while that doesn’t make her a bad person, it makes her a bad mother. Period. And your father… he just doesn’t like to let up any control. He couldn’t control you having sex, he couldn’t control you getting pregnant and he couldn’t control anything after that. It has nothing to do with who you are as a person, it has everything to do with your father loving control more than he loves you.”

“I know,” I sniff and wipe my eyes as I pull myself together. “I know that everything you’re saying is the truth, but I can’t help it… I just keep thinking about them. Like it’s about to be Thanksgiving and I’m not spending it with them. They didn’t come see me on my birthday and now I’m not spending Thanksgiving with them. For the first time since I can remember, I won’t be sitting in front of the TV watching football with my dad after we eat turkey. And I won’t be there to eat the chocolate pie my mom made. I know I shouldn’t be sad, but I am.”

“You have a right to feel however you feel, honey.” She hands me some tissues so I can properly wipe my face. “Your feelings are your feelings and you can feel however you need to feel. But listen to me when I tell you that you are spending Thanksgiving exactly where you need to be. You will be surrounded by people who love you for who you are, Quinn. And that’s what you want. You want the good people. The people who matter. Blood doesn’t make a family. Your family is whoever is happy to have you and whoever realizes how great of a girl you are.”

_ I guess she’s right. I guess I’m not really wrong for being so upset about not spending the holiday with my mom and dad since it’s the first holiday in my life that I won’t be with some members of my _ _ natural family, but I think I should be grateful that I’ve been welcomed into a really great one. The Joneses are happy to have me. No matter what, they consistently show me. They love me and they’re happy to have me for as long as I’ll have them and I’m just happy to have them. _

“How are you spending Thanksgiving?” I ask her as I throw my soiled tissues away. While I am asking just to take the heat off myself so I can pull it together enough to finish out the session, I do actually care. I am actually genuinely curious as to how Bailey spends her holidays. “Do you do anything special?”

“We usually drive down to Bellefontaine to my parents’ house but not this year.” She mumbles as her concentration is actually on writing down a few of her notes.

“Why not this year?”

“Because…” Her voice trails off as she continues to write but she picks up where she left off once she’s finished writing. “My son’s spending Thanksgiving with his dad this year. He’s going to spend it with my ex and his new girlfriend.”

“Oh?” I raise my eyebrow and settle in because this seems like it’ll make a good story. I think asking Bailey about her personal life and getting in depth is crossing a line, but I think most of me and Bailey’s sessions cross lines, so whatever. “A new woman? How do we feel about her? Do we like her or do we hate her?”

“She’s alright. She’s a teacher. Middle school English or something like that, I don’t remember. But she seems nice. I met her at Quinn’s hockey game the other day. She seemed normal.” She shrugs.

“Normal how?”

“Like… she bathes and brushes her teeth normal,” she says and we both laugh when she does. “I know the bar is on the actual ground, but you know. It’s not my business who he dates now. Just as long as whoever she is treats my son right, I don’t care.”

“I guess that’s a good attitude to have.” _ I know I shouldn’t ask... but I’m really, really curious… _ “When did you get divorced? Is this like, recent or has it been for a while? I mean to be honest, I didn’t really think you were old enough to _ be _married, let alone divorced. With a ten year old.”

“Yeah, well we got married young,” she tucks her hair behind her ears. “His family’s like, super republican and old fashioned, so when I got pregnant it was their idea for him to marry me. I was young. I was eighteen and not really in a position to say no when he asked me to marry him. And it was good for a while, actually. We had our own little apartment, we were doing our own little thing, we were raising Quinn together, I was going to school and he was working in the oil fields. It was good.”

“So then what happened?”

“The relationship just ran its course.” She doesn’t sound sad when she says that at all, she says it like it’s just a fact of life. “You know, when you get married young like that, you don’t really know what you want. You haven’t seen the world, you don’t know what’s out there for you. You just take what’s in front of you and settle for it. As we got older, we just realized that we wanted different things. And we weren’t the same kids we were when we were eighteen and twenty. It was amicable. It’s not like we hate each other and it was a bad breakup. The divorce was on good terms.”

“Well… do you think you’ll ever find love again? Get a boyfriend? Have more kids?”

“Quinn, I’m only 28,” she laughs. “I’m only 28 and I graduated from college three years ago, don’t write me off just yet! My biological clock isn’t ticking!”

“Well I dunno!” I laugh. “I just thought that you’d have a lot of… suitors. I thought people would be lining up to be your boyfriend, I dunno.”

“I’m focused on my job and Quinn right now. I think I’ll find whoever I’m meant to be with in due time, I’m not rushing it. When the time comes for me to have a boyfriend… or a girlfriend, I don’t really discriminate or have a preference, I think it’ll be when I’m ready for it spiritually. Until then… I’m just gonna kick ass as a mom and a therapist.”

“Kick ass as a mom and a therapist… sounds like a plan.” I glance up at the clock and see that my time is just about up. “Well, I have to go. I have to go pick up Beth from Shelby’s. I’m watching her at my house tonight, so… Tuesday?”

She looks up at the clock too. “Yeah, Tuesday. I’ll see you in school.”

“Well… why don’t we have our Saturday session on Friday instead? Since you’ll be alone for Thanksgiving. I could… keep you company and take your mind off it or whatever. We could just have a Thanksgiving session. On Black Friday.”

“Sounds like a plan, girly. I’ll bring the pumpkin pie.”

“And I’ll bring the whipped cream. See you, Bailey.”

“Have a good night with your baby, Quinn.”

* * *

As soon as I get back inside of my car, I grab my phone from the middle console where I always stash it for my sessions with Bailey. I never take my phone inside the building whenever I have a session with her, because I don’t want any distractions at all. But every time I go an hour without my phone, I can never hardly wait to open it up and see what I’ve missed.

Today’s missed news? Two missed calls and a text. All from Rachel.

**New iMessage**

**Saturday, November 23**

**12:27 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Hey idk why you’re not answering your phone but I was calling to see what you’re doing later. If you’re not doing anything, do you want to come to the harvest festival in Columbus with me and my dads? We go every year. It’s an hour and a half away so text me soon please.

**iMessage**

**Saturday, November 23**

**1:32 p.m.**

**ME: **hey sorry. just got out of therapy. did you guys leave yet?

**iMessage**

**Saturday, November 23**

**1:35 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **Not yet. Not leaving until 2. You can still come with us if you want to. I really want you to come. I want to make it up to you for being so horrible the last few days. I was mean to you and I want to see you and say sorry.

**RACHEL: **How was therapy?

**iMessage**

**Saturday, November 23**

**1:35 p.m.**

**ME: **fppf

**ME: ***good.

**ME: **sorry im driving. lol.

**ME: **leaving @ 2v

**ME: ***?

**RACHEL: **Don’t text and drive Quinn.

**ME: **i’m fine, at red light.

**ME: **would love to come with you guys. have beth though. have to ask shelby if it’s ok to bring her with. have to ask parents too.

**RACHEL: **Okay well let me know. If you’re allowed, meet me at my house as soon as possible. I’ll tell my dads to wait for you if you’re allowed to go. We won’t leave without you.

**RACHEL: **I hope my mom says yes… I kinda miss Bethie!

**ME: **she would love the festival

**ME: **pulling into shelbys now. i’m going to ask. brb.

**RACHEL: **Kk.

  
  


**iMessage**

**Saturday, November 23**

**2:04 p.m.**

**ME: **shelby doesn’t care if we take her to the festival as long as we keep her covered up bc she’s getting over being sick. i’m packing her diaper bag then i’ll be over. give me like 15 mins.

**RACHEL: **Okay! Did your parents say yes?

**ME: **yeah. i have to be home by midnight though. curfew. 

**RACHEL: **That’s fine. We won’t be that late. We’ll wait for you! See you soon. Love you.

**ME: **see you soon. love you too.

* * *

“Maaaa-ma. Maaaa-ma. Mama. Mama. Come on, Bethie. Come on. You can do it.” Rachel coos at her and Beth just kinda looks at her like she’s speaking an entirely different language to her. Rachel’s been at this for the last ten minutes. I don’t know why, but she’s somehow convinced that Beth can say “mama”, even despite the fact that Beth has never said a clear word a day in her life.

I lick the parts of the ice cream cone that are dripping off the sides, then hold it to Beth’s mouth so she can take another lick herself. She opens up that tiny little mouth and sticks her little pink tongue out and I scrape the mound of strawberry ice cream across it just to help her out a little. She’s so damn cute. I know every mother on the planet thinks that their baby is the cutest thing ever and is absolutely mesmerized by everything their baby does, but Beth truly is special. She’s so cute and so sweet and so patient. She watches me every time I take a lick of the ice cream to make sure it doesn’t topple over. She watches me with those pretty blue/green eyes and patiently waits for me to let her have another lick.

“Why don’t you let her hold it?” Rachel asks just as I’m wiping some napkins across my baby’s little chin. “Let her hold it and get all messy. It’s not like she doesn’t have a change of clothes.”

“So Shelby can get mad and yell at me for getting ice cream all over her peacoat? No thanks,” I toss the pink napkins into the trashcan beside the table we’re sitting at and grab some more. “I don’t even know if she’s allowed to have ice cream.”

“Shelby gives her frozen yogurt, I don’t see what the difference really is.” Rachel unfastens the bottom button on Beth’s little tan and black peacoat.

Shelby let me dress her before I took her out of the house, which was actually really fun and made me wish that I could dress her up every day. I wanted her to be warm since we’re outdoors at the end of November, so I put her in a pair of black knitted wool leggings, and I put her in one of the pairs of socks that come up to her knees. Her little feet are stuck inside the pair of UGG boots that match mine, and underneath her peacoat, she’s wearing a brown shirt with silver rhinestones all over it. I even put a hat on her head and she looks so cute with her little tufts of blonde curls sticking out the bottom. It’s nice outside, actually. It’s only in the 50s and there’s a very slight breeze blowing and Beth is probably hot in all the layers I dressed her in. But I’d rather her be hot than cold.

“So yeah,” Rachel finishes her ice cream by eating the maraschino cherry that was on top, then she throws her container away. “I invited you so I could tell you that I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I mumble, mostly concentrating on making sure that Beth gets the ice cream inside of her mouth and not on her outfit. She already got powdered sugar all over it from the funnel cake she ate with me, and a little splatter of sour cream got on her leggings when I tried to share my street taco with her. I think I might get in trouble with Shelby for feeding her all these things that she’s probably not supposed to have, but Rachel made a good point earlier when she said that Shelby purées a lot of table food and feeds it to her and she’s fine. Besides, I just don’t know how to look her in her little eyes and say no whenever she’s watching me eat. _ Okay, I only let her lick the taco. She didn’t actually take a bite, I swear. _

“For doing what I did to Mercedes.” She hands me another napkin when she sees the ice cream dripping again. “And then for getting mad at you for not choosing me over her.”

“Well I think the main person you owe an apology to is Mercedes. She’s the one who went home crying because her solo got taken away. Why’d you have to do that, Rachel? Why’d you have to make such a big scene? You remember last year when you got sick? And you couldn’t belt any high notes for a week either? But we all just cut you some slack because we know how good of a singer you are. Not once did anyone try to take a solo or a performance away from you because you were sick and couldn’t belt. That was wrong. Mercedes deserves better than that.”

“I know…” She hangs her head. “I guess I wasn’t as over it as I thought I was. I didn’t think I was still mad about her getting the big solo for regionals, but clearly…” She sighs. “I talked to Mr. Schue yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And he’s gonna give Mercedes the solo back. I told him I didn’t want it. And I don’t. I don’t want it if it’s going to make Mercedes feel bad. I’d much rather focus on the duet with me and Finn than take a solo away if it means I’m going to lose a friend like Mercedes. And I didn’t mean to put you in a bad place either.”

“You can’t do that… okay?” I throw the ice cream away since it’s almost gone and Beth doesn’t seem interested in it anymore anyway. I wipe her cheeks with the napkins and wipe her hands too. “You can’t do that, ever.”

“I know.”

“No Rachel, I mean it. You can’t do that to me. You can’t tell me to choose between you and Mercedes. I can’t and I won’t. I love you. I love you so much, but Mercedes is my SISTER. She’s my _ sister, _Rachel. I know you don’t understand that, but you have to try. You have to try to understand that. Because asking me to choose between two people I love the most in the world isn’t fair. It just isn’t.”

“I know and I’m sorry!” She folds her arms and sighs. “...I guess I just don’t know how to share you with Mercedes yet. I guess I’m still learning. I guess I understand how you felt when I was hanging out with Kurt.”

“It’s not a competition, babe,” I reach over and tuck some loose strands behind her ear so I can get a better look at her beautiful face. “It’s not a competition between you and Mercedes. You both have all of my love.”

Rachel puts her head down on the table and sometimes when she does that, I know it’s because she’s thinking. And maybe she’s thinking about what kind of ride we can go on next. We already walked through the funhouse with Beth and she cried her eyes out the whole time because there were little kids in there with us and they were just screaming at the tops of their lungs.

“I had a long talk with Finn,” she mutters, looking away from me as the picks her head up. “A long one. Last night. And I made him understand a few things. I made him understand that we are totally over. He was confused at first, but I think he gets it. I think he gets that I’m with you now.”

I want to sit here and bask in this moment for a little while longer, because I know that took a lot out of her. For her to completely shut the door and close the chapter of her life that included Finn in it must have been really hard for her and I appreciate it. Really, I do.

But I can’t really enjoy the moment that much longer because Beth starts to cough and then there’s little chunky pink vomit all over the table. And we’re out of napkins, so when I spring up off the bench to clean her up, I have to head for the table beside us to get some napkins.

Beth starts to cry when I get up, because I think she feels like I’m leaving her. I’m not surprised when I turn around to return to the table with napkins and I see her with her arms outstretched to me.

But I am surprised when she opens her mouth and a very slobbery, jumbled word comes out.

That slobbery word she says is, “Maaama.”


	55. Do You Wanna Touch Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY mature language in this chapter. Reader discretion advised.

* * *

* * *

_ November 24 _

_ I went to the festival with Rachel yesterday and we were allowed to bring Beth. I think Beth enjoyed herself a lot, because she kind of just smiled the whole time. Granted, she wouldn’t let anyone else but me touch her, but that’s not really the point. She screamed when Rachel tried to take her off my hip and give me a break, then held onto me so tight that her nails dug into my neck when Mr. and Mr. Berry tried to talk to her. Even Shelby’s mentioned lately that Beth is super attached to me, and I’m starting to believe in what everyone has been saying. I can count on two hands how many people have told me that babies know and remember their mothers. At first, I didn’t really think it was true because Beth cried the first time I held her in JC Penney and any baby who remembers their mother wouldn’t cry the way she did. But these days, I think it’s true. I think she does remember me. _

_ At the fair, she got tired before we left and me and Rachel were too excited to get going that I never bothered to ask Shelby for a stroller. I had to carry her around the entire time because she didn’t want anyone else to carry her. The sun went down and the festival lights came on and really brought the place to life, and I went to a booth and bought her a lollipop. As me and Rachel were standing in line to get some fried dough, Beth put her head down on my shoulder and it wasn’t until me and Rachel’s place in line moved up that I realized she was sleeping. Her lollipop was still in her hand, but her eyes were closed and her lips were all purple from the lollipop. And her hand was stuffed down the front of my shirt and resting on my left boob like she was trying to feel my heartbeat or something. _

_ At first, I thought it was just a coincidence. I thought that maybe her hand had somehow fallen down the front of my shirt because it had gotten colder outside and I took my jacket off to cover her up with. The blouse I had on underneath my jacket was very loose-fitting and not all that practical since I had never planned on taking my jacket off. I thought that Beth’s hand fell down the front and just so happened to end up on my boob. _

_ But when I had to shift her to the other side of my body because my back started to hurt, her hand came out of my shirt and she woke up whining a little. She got comfortable again and put her head back down on my shoulder, but her hand went right back to my chest and that’s when I knew that it wasn’t a coincidence. She likes to have her hand where she can feel my heartbeat. And I think that maybe it’s because she remembers feeling it from inside of me. _

_ A lot of people at the fair stopped us to tell us how cute Beth was, and it made me feel proud or something. I had her there on my hip and we were waiting to walk through the funhouse and the attendant said hi to her. Beth put her face in my neck and the attendant told me that she was cute and looked exactly like me. She does look like me, and that’s not me being biased, that’s me telling the truth. She’s a lot prettier than me, of course. But everything on her face is like a scaled down, miniature version of my features and she is really stinking cute. Her eyes are doing this thing now where they’re changing colors and while I wish they would’ve stayed blue forever, they’re more green now than anything. I don’t mean to turn this into a long journal where all I do is gush about my kid, but I can’t help it. Today was my first real outing with her and everyone stopping to tell me that she’s cute and she looks like me really made me feel something. I didn’t have to explain to anyone that she’s not actually my daughter. I could just tell them thank you for the compliment, kiss my baby, then walk away like it was normal or something. _

_ Maybe it’s the part of me that is still just a seventeen year old kid, but I caught myself daydreaming while we were walking under the lights. _

_ Beth was on my shoulder sleeping and Rachel was holding my hand, unapologetically, and eating cotton candy from a paper cone. Nobody was staring at us and gawking and thinking that two girls holding hands was odd. Her dads were walking behind us and it was the same, nobody really cared. Because we’re in Columbus and nobody knew who we were and nobody really cared if we were two girls or two guys. It was nice to feel like I didn’t have to hide myself or water myself down. _

_ At 8:30, the fireworks started and we all sat down at the picnic table to watch them. Rachel sat beside me and put her head on the shoulder that wasn’t occupied by Beth, and he dads sat across from us. The sky lit up with fireworks and Rachel looked over at me and something came over the both of us and we just kissed. And my mind went crazy thinking about the things I haven’t thought about since I was really little and me and Frannie were playing Barbies. _

_ My Barbie married Frannie’s Ken doll and Frannie made them kiss and get married and started talking about how she couldn’t wait to get married and have a baby someday. She talked about all those things, about all her hopes and dreams, and the only thing I could think way back then was that I never wanted to get married. Being married just seemed so… blah to me. And that was the last time I’d ever thought about my life 20 years into the future and being married, which disgusted me. _

_ But when Rachel’s lips touched mine and I heard the fireworks booming and bursting all across the sky, the thought didn’t seem so gross anymore. I thought about how that could be our thing. _

_ In ten years after we graduated college and Rachel’s won her first Tony, we would come back to Lima to settle down. I’d open my own practice where I would be a good therapist and providing affordable mental health services to everyone who needs it. Rachel would be taking over the Glee club for Mr. Schue and she’d be just as good a vocal teacher as Shelby is. We’d leave our apartment in New York City and buy a really nice house up on the other side of Wynwood Court, down the street from where the old Fabray house used to be. And then we’d have our baby. I’m not sure how, I haven’t gotten that far yet. I don’t know if Rachel would want to adopt or have a baby of our own. I don’t know if she’d opt to just get inseminated with a sperm donor or if she’d want to do the whole all-immersive experience of taking my egg and putting it into her so it’s my baby but she carried it or whatever. I just don’t know how it would happen but the point is that it would. We would have mini Rachels or mini Quinns and we’d be married and we would be so happy and every year we’d drive our baby to Columbus to come to this very festival. This could be our thing. And suddenly the idea of marriage doesn’t absolutely disgust me anymore. _

_ I daydreamt the entire time the firework show went on. I lost myself thinking that Beth could be our baby and this could last forever. Rachel would be my wife, I could be hers. Beth could be our baby and we could raise her to be good and have decent values. I know it seems  _ _ juvenile because me and Rachel are only in high school and she’s the only girl I’ve ever been in a relationship with, but I know it could work. I know it could. People get married to their high school sweethearts all the time and when you love someone as much as I love her, you make it work. We will stay together. I know we will. _

_ And maybe that’s just me being a wishful little kid, but I don’t care. _

* * *

_ November 27 _

_ I wonder if it’s possible that I don’t let Rachel touch me a lot because of Puck. _

_ Rachel seems to think that’s the case and she seems to think that she has it all figured out and while I yelled at her and told her that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, I wonder if maybe she does. _

_ Mr. Schue let us out early today. The day before Thanksgiving break is always super hectic and stressful and today was no exception. I had four tests all back to back to back to back and the last thing I wanted to do was go to Glee club but Mr. Schue is starting his whole mandatory thing since it’s so close to regionals. I swear, if Glee club wasn’t mandatory today, I would’ve just gone straight home and took a nap because I was flat out exhausted. I guess maybe he’s in the holiday spirit, because he let us go after we ran through our entire performance only once. _

_ Mercedes took the after school bus home with Sam because she’s supposed to go to his brother’s basketball game with him for a little, so I told Rachel that I’d take her home since her car’s in the shop. She asked me to come in and maybe watch a movie or two since we don’t have school for the next four days, but I lied and told her that Mom wants me home tonight but in reality, I kind of just wanted to take a nap. _

_ She kissed me goodbye and of course I kissed her back, but things started to get a little steamy. We were parked outside her house in the driveway, so I didn’t know how long it was going to last or how far it was going to go, but she kept reminding me that her dads weren’t home yet and I swear that almost made me get out of the car and take her up to her room to show her just how badly I missed her body. _

_ But she climbed over into the seat with me instead. She took her seatbelt off, climbed over into the seat with me and sat on my lap with her back against the steering wheel. I kept kissing her and leaving little red hickeys on her neck and I wanted to take her shirt off and leave hickeys on her boobs instead because that’s the one thing she always asks of me. She doesn’t like it when I leave hickeys in places that are visible, so my go-to place is usually between her boobs or right on the tops of them. But my windows aren’t tinted and even though her neighbors houses are a decent distance away on both sides, I was still nervous that someone would see. _

_ When me and Rachel have sex, Rachel usually initiates but I’m always the one to actually start it. What I mean is that Rachel’s always the one who moves on to my neck when we’re just making out, and that usually lets me know that she's in the mood and wants to do something. But when we actually start the heavy making out and the dry humping and the leaving hickeys, I’m always the one who takes it a step further. It was totally my doing when we took it a step further. _

_ She was wearing a skirt, which made it easy for me to just slide my hands up there and move her underwear out of my way. She does this thing that drives me absolutely insane every time we have sex. I do a pretty good job at controlling myself and not going full crazy on her body the way I want to. I mean seriously, the way I want to just devour every inch of her is animalistic and she’d probably think I’m some kind of crazy sex demon if I ever stopped holding myself back. I hold myself back a lot. But she does this thing and she makes it so hard for me to control myself because every time she does it, something inside of me snaps and it makes me want to do crazy things like hold her legs over her head and use my tongue until she orgasms like fifty times in a row. I have dreams about this all the time, it’s quite disturbing actually. _

_ Anyway, she did it. I told myself that I wasn’t going to let her drag me into her house and up the steps to have sex because I haven’t been home by 4:00 in MONTHS and I had a nap in my bed with my name written all over it. But then she did it and I felt crazy and I really thought about following her inside and going at her right there on the rug in her hallway. I wasn’t going to be able to make it up the steps. _

_ The thing she does is whenever I’m fingering her and she did it in the car and I lost my mind. _

_ I thought she wasn’t going to do it because I was already two knuckles deep and kissing her neck and she just reached back to turn the radio down, which she did for me. She knows I love to hear her moan and the radio was loud and would have drowned it out so even when I had my two fingers stuffed inside of her, she was thinking about me and she turned the radio down. Then she started doing her thing. She had her face buried in my neck and she started moving her hips back and forth. I thought I could keep my composure this time, but she started rocking faster and faster and my wrist went back and forth with her movements and then I curled my fingers and she moaned and then I started thinking about how I couldn’t make it to her house and I would have to lie her down in the backseat instead. She knows I lose my shit whenever she rides my fingers but she did it anyway and I fell in love with her a little bit more. _

_ And everything was good. My car was rocking back and forth with her movements and my foot was pressing the brake to the floor because even though my car was in park, she was moving so fast that I thought we’d roll down the driveway. The windows were getting a little bit foggy and the sound of her moaning filled the air. And my hand was soaking wet so I knew she’d gotten there, but my record was making her orgasm twice in a row and I kind of wanted to beat that. Everything was good. _

_ Until it wasn’t. _

_ She slowed down, probably because her legs were cramping since she usually does that in a bed where we have more room. She slowed down and kissed me and then she started to lift my dress up too. She wanted to return the favor and then I felt weird. I always feel weird when Rachel tries to touch me anywhere private, but I’m usually pretty okay with talking myself into letting her. I can usually build myself up to it with a series of internal peptalks and I have actually been able to let her finger me and go down on me twice. But she caught me off guard with that one. I wasn’t done being inside of her yet, so I didn’t expect her to move on to wanting to touch me so quickly. She caught me off guard and I felt really weird when her hands grabbed my underwear, so I moved. I moved and my legs kind of closed a little bit so she couldn’t pull my underwear down and I made a noise. It was kind of like a grunt. _

_ She tried pulling my underwear down again and I didn’t want to make her feel bad, so I tried to start fingering her again but she just kept going. So then I put my hand against her chest and told her that I really needed to get home. She said “oh” and then climbed off of me and sat back in the passenger’s seat while I wiped my hands on my dress. I knew when she didn’t immediately get out that she was going to want to talk about it and I didn’t want to talk about it. _

_ She leaned over to kiss me goodbye again, so I kissed her back but then her hand went to my chest and I moved again. And that’s when she got mad. _

_ She looked at me and said, “Do I disgust you that much? Why do you recoil every time I touch you?” And hearing her say that really broke my heart in a way, because there is no part of Rachel that disgusts me. I did what anyone would do. I denied it and I told her she was crazy. I told her, “Don’t be ridiculous, Rachel. I told you I have to go home today. I’m not recoiling. If you disgusted me, I wouldn’t have just fingerfucked you.” _

_ Then she got really mad and told me to stop making her feel crazy. She started listing all the times I squirmed away or seemed uncomfortable when she starts touching me below my waist or below my neck and that’s when I knew I hurt her feelings. She cried and told me that she just wants to touch her girlfriend and stop letting me do all the work but what she doesn’t realize is that I’m happy doing all the work. I mean seriously, I am. I genuinely love watching her toes curl whenever I suck a certain spot and I love hearing her moan knowing that I’m the one making her do it. And when I get her to orgasm? It’s like magic floating all around inside my body. I love making her orgasm. I genuinely do. _

_ But she got all defensive and hostile and she used words that Rachel would never use unless she was really mad, saying that she wants to “make her girlfriend cum.” I looked down at my feet because I didn’t want to make eye contact and I told her that she has. She asked me when. And I told her that I did the first time we had sex. And that really set her off, hearing that I haven’t had an orgasm with her since the first time. I just didn’t want to lie to her. I didn’t want to lie to her but I also didn’t want to make her feel bad and I knew that I did because she started crying and saying that she’s horrible in bed which isn’t true. I may not have had a full orgasm since the first time we had sex, but I’ve come really close and all it’s about for me is getting to be close to her. _

_ She kept trying to touch me and look at me and get me to open my legs and I kind of freaked out a little because it felt like she was doing what Puck was doing when he was trying to get me to tell him that I liked it. I was trying to close my legs and she was trying to open them and it made me think of how he did the same thing. So I yelled at her and told her to stop it and get out of my car, and then she just looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “Oh Quinn.” She put her hand on my cheek and looked at me the way everyone looks at me when they remember that I’ve been raped. She looked at me and said, “I’m so sorry.” _

_ So anyway, now Rachel is convinced that I won’t let her touch me because of the rape and I just don’t know if that’s true. _

_ What I do know is that there is some reason why I hold myself back when I have sex with Rachel, and there’s some reason why I feel weird when she touches me. I know it’s not because she disgusts me. So then again… maybe the rape is the only option there is? _

_ It’s the day before Thanksgiving and all I can think about is how me and my girlfriend’s sex life is on the rocks. And I think maybe I should start talking to Bailey about it, because I really do want to start enjoying sex with Rachel. And I do think that it should be a two way street. _

_ In other news, I’m nervous about Thanksgiving tomorrow. _

_ Mercedes’ grandma, two cousins and aunt are all coming to dinner and that means that I have to meet everyone. It’s bad enough I’m meeting Mykel for the first time tonight, but meeting everyone tomorrow is going to really suck. I just don’t know how to make sure that everyone likes me. _

_ I hope that Thanksgiving is going to be better this year than how it always has been for me in the past. Every other year prior to this one, I’ve spent it eating some dry turkey and chocolate pie that mom made. Or Judy, I guess I can call her now. And then I’d sit in front of the TV and pretend to be interested in whatever football game that Russel was watching. _

_ I miss that. I know it wasn’t healthy and watching Judy drown her sorrows in a bottle of gin really sucked. Because when Russel told us that he’d be back after the game, somehow Judy knew that he was going across town to spend Thanksgiving with the other woman. Eventually Judy would get so drunk that she’d pass out and then I’d spend the evening eating the pie straight from the tin (then throwing it up later) and watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving and putting up the Christmas tree alone. Maybe it was an unhealthy life and the one I’ve got now is going to be so much better. _

_ But it was my life and I do kind of miss it. _

  
  


Just as I put my pencil down and start closing my notebook for the night, Mercedes knocks on my already open door and waits for me to turn around and look at her before she starts speaking. I raise my eyebrows at her to let her know I’m listening, and I flex my fingers because they’re cramped and it was a whole lot of writing I did.

“My brother’s here,” she hangs on the doorknob and waits for me to respond, which I don’t. “...So you should probably come down and meet him.”

“Right,” I mumble and stand up.

* * *

Mercedes waited for me on the steps before I came down to meet Mykel, which I thought was really sweet. You know, I kind of thought that me and Mercedes lost our touch. We’d been arguing so much lately that I started to feel like our relationship had changed from best friends to strictly sisters and I really started to miss my best friend. But then I was coming down the stairs and I noticed that she waited at the bottom and I knew that she did that because she knew I’d be nervous to meet him. She didn’t want me to walk into the living room alone. 

And that’s when I remembered that there’s nobody in the world who knows me like she knows me. There’s nobody in the world I can call my best friend like I can call her mine.

I had nothing to be afraid of, by the way. Mykel is just a bigger, hairier, more muscular version of Mercedes. I haven’t gotten a really good read on his personality yet, but he seems really goofy and really playful compared to Mercedes. He’s been cracking jokes and giving Mercedes wet willies and Mom’s been yelling at him. I think he’s good. I think I like him. I think he might be another man that I can possibly trust. I think my guard can go down.

“Here Quinn,” Mercedes says as she passes me another peach that needs peeled, pitted and cut.

My fingers are all slimy and covered with peach juice, but I start cutting the skin off of the new peach anyway after I put the pieces I already cut into the bowl. Mercedes tosses the pit of her peach into the plastic bag in the middle of the table, and Mykel puts the stem of an apple inside the bag too. I can already tell my Thanksgiving is going to be significantly different this year. I could have never even dreamed of sitting at the kitchen table and helping my mom cut up fruit for the desserts.

“This is so nice,” Mom brings a glass bowl over to the table and starts putting the chunks of apple that Mykel cut into it. “Havin’ all my lil ducklings up under one roof and helpin’ me make up some apple pies and cobbler.”

“If you call slave labor “helping,” then yeah. Sure. We’re helping.” Mercedes mumbles and starts cutting her peach into quarters. 

“If I have to see another peach after tonight, I’m going to throw up.” I toss the slices of peach into me and Mercedes’ bowl and grab another one from the bunch.

“I’m just sayin’ ma, you could at least pay us.” Mykel helps her by sprinkling some brown powder into the bowl with the apples. “I’m a poor, broke, college kid.”

“I pay your tuition, boy. That’s payment enough.” Mom starts spreading the apples into the pie crust she made homemade.

“You know, back when Irish came to america, they got paid like two cents for their work.” I chime in. “I’m kinda feeling like the Irish right now.”

“Yeah, well at least they actually  _ got  _ paid.” Mykel mumbles under his breath and me and Mercedes both laugh so hard that we snort. I feel horrible for laughing because it’s not funny and I don’t feel like I should actually laugh because it’s terrible but that was truth. He just spoke so much truth and it’s hilarious how he said it.

He starts sprinkling the brown stuff into me and Mercedes’ peaches, too.

“What are you doing?” I ask, part genuine curiosity but also part needing to strike up conversation with Mykel.  _ He better not be ruining it. We worked hard on these damn peaches.  _ “What did you just add to our peaches?”

“Five Spice?” He looks at me like he just told me the capital of Ohio is Columbus and I should have known that. “You ain’t never heard of Chinese Five Spice?”

“I mean, I have. In home ec, we cook with it sometimes. But why would you put it in our peaches?”

“‘Cause that’s the way it goes?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly even more confused than before. “You gotta season the peaches. What did you think, you just throw the peaches into the cobbler and let it bake?”

“Don’t you, though?”

“...And this is why you ought to be so glad my mama rescued you.” He sits back down and holds back laughter. “Lemme ask you this. Did you just eat boring, bland food for the entire seventeen years you’ve been alive? Was your food just bland and gross until you came here?”

“My mother could burn water, and I’m not joking.” I pick up the spoon and start mixing the peaches up so that the spice gets distributed. “She made like… three good things. She made good pot roast that she just threw into the crockpot and let sit, she made good homemade red sauce, she fried a mean hot dog and baked some really good sugar cookies. That’s the extent of it.”

“Oh, Quinn,” Mercedes laughs and finishes cutting up the last peach to throw into the bowl. “That chicken stuff was really good when I ate dinner at your house that one time. It was like chicken and alfredo sauce and vegetables. It was really good.”

“It came from the freezer, Mercedes! It was a frozen dinner! She just put it in the skillet with some water and let it go! And it needed salt!” I carry the peaches over to where Mom is standing at the counter and finally wash my hands. “Do you understand how much weight I’ve gained since I’ve been living here? I didn’t even know what Tilapia was. And I swear I didn’t know there was such a thing as homemade macaroni. I thought you just got that shit from a box or the freezer.”

“Well you’re in for a treat tomorrow.” Mykel starts weaving the lattice on the apple pie like he’s been doing it all his life. “I’m telling you, the ladies in my family can throw down in the kitchen. Just wait.”

“ _ Our  _ family, ‘Kel,” Mom mumbles and stirs something that smells horrible inside of a big pot.

“Huh?” He asks.

“It’s Quinn’s family too. So say  _ our  _ family.” She blows on whatever is in the pot and takes a bite.

“My bad.” He nudges me with his elbow to say sorry and I shake my head at him to tell him that it’s nothing. “But just you wait til tomorrow. You’re gonna be in a coma.”

“I know I can’t wait.” Mercedes starts cleaning up the bag of apple stems and peach pits. “I need deviled eggs in my life.”

“What all do you guys have?” I dry my hands and ask because I’m getting excited too. I mean they’re talking all this food up and even though I’m probably gonna go to the bathroom and throw it all up after I eat it tomorrow, I’m still excited to taste it. “Like, turkey and stuff?”

“What do you usually eat?” Mom finishes the lattice on Mykel’s pie and puts it in the oven. “What does Judy usually make you? And who do you celebrate with?”

“Well sometimes Frannie comes home for Thanksgiving, but she hasn’t been home in a couple years. We usually just eat turkey. Sometimes she’d make mashed potatoes and green beans but that’s really it.” I sit back down in my seat and try not to get sad at the memory.

“Well tomorrow, we’ve got all the goods!” Mykel sits down too. “Aunt Reenie’s making the turkey, Mom’s got the ham, there’s gonna be sweet potato casserole, potato salad, baked macaroni, dressing… help me out, ‘Cedes.”

“Deviled eggs, mom’s making the collard greens, I think Nana’s making baked chicken… just wait, Quinn. We all get super full and then go back for seconds and then just pass out. It’s great.”

“Passing out sounds like a plan,” I nod. “So what do you guys like… do? Do you just eat dinner and go home? Or.”

“Go home?!” Mykel looks at me like he told me the capital again. “Yeah right!”

“You two gotta get her hip to what goes down in the Jones house on Thanksgiving,” Mom laughs and sprinkles the crumble on top of the cobbler. “She don’t know. Y’all gotta tell her.”

“So we basically get together and sometimes we drink. Sometimes Mom and Dad lets us have a couple wine coolers if it’s gonna be like, just us and we’re gonna be safe. Only sometimes though. After dinner, we go to the living room and we play trivia for a little bit and then we sing karaoke. It’s SO much fun, Quinn. Just wait.”

“Really?”  _ God their family is so cool. They actually do things as a family. They get drunk and sing karaoke and enjoy each other’s company. I would have never thought that I’d come into a family like that… _

“Yeah, it’s so much fun. Sam’s gonna come and ‘Kel, did you invite Bianca?” Mercedes asks.

“She said she might slide through for a little bit after she has dinner with her parents.” He replies.

“You should have Rachel come,” Mercedes shrugs and I know that her suggesting that is a big deal considering that Rachel was the entire reason her solo got taken away for a moment. I appreciate her trying to take the high road. “We’re singing karaoke, she’d be all over that.”

“I dunno…” I pick up one of the knives me and Mercedes were using to cut the peaches and stab one from the bowl that mom hasn’t used. I pop it into my mouth and chew. “I probably won’t invite her.”

“Why not?” Mercedes picks up a peach with her fingers instead of a knife or a fork. “If you think I’m still mad, I’m not. It’s water under the bridge. It’s Rachel, you just gotta take her with a grain of salt. I’m fine. She can come.”

“It’s not that.”  _ It’s that I don’t really think that I want your family to meet my girlfriend the first time they’re meeting me. I don’t think being gay is the first impression I want to make on them. And I don’t want to have to act like me and Rachel are just really close friends the entire night.  _ “...I just don’t… like… I don’t want your family thinking of me as the gay one as soon as they meet me. I want them to get to know me first. And it’s not really fair to Rachel if I ask her to not hold my hand and just act like we’re friends for the entire night.”

“Oh, stop it,” Mom picks up a peach with her fingers too, so now I ditch the knife and being civilized and I eat with my fingers too. “You and Rachel ain’t gotta act like nothing in this house. The fam ain’t like that. You tell ‘em she’s your girlfriend and they ain’t gonna look at you no different. They gonna love you for who you is, same way we do.”

“How’d you know you’re gay?” Mykel asks me, blunt and straight up. He even has a mouth full of peach when he asks me, which is how I know that he doesn’t think it’s a big deal. Mom rolls up a dish towel and smacks him in the back of his head with it. “Aah, ma! I’m just askin’!”

“No, you being nosy. Get out Quinn’s business. That ain’t none of your concern.”

It’s as if Mom smacking Mykel released some sort of signal out into the house, because as soon as she smacks him, Dad comes into the kitchen. He goes immediately over to the pot on the stove, which I now know has collard greens inside of it, and takes a fork to taste test them.

“Why you harassing Quinntessential?” Dad chews. “Leave her alone, boy. How’d you know you were straight?”

“I was just wondering! Jeez!” Mykel keeps rubbing the spot on his head where Mom smacked him and I think he’s being dramatic because there’s no way it actually hurt that bad.

“Guys, it’s okay,” I giggle and eat another peach. “Seriously, it’s okay.” I turn to Mykel so I can answer his question. “I was in therapy one day. I was in therapy and my therapist told me that some of the things I was saying… like how much I hate Rachel and stuff… she said that it could stem from me being like, repressed? And thinking that I hate her when I’m actually like, crushing on her. She said that and it all kinda just clicked. I was raised in the church really heavily, so I just didn’t like… want to think about myself like that but once I started to, I always kinda knew.”

“So it wasn’t like… like you slept with a guy and realized that it just wasn’t it? You didn’t sleep with him and was like ‘damn, this ain’t it’? You just realized one day that you liked girls?”

“Well I was raped, so.” Everyone who already knew holds their breath when I say it, but Mykel’s jaw just kinda drops a little. “Yeah. I don’t think so, but that probably has something to do with my… non-preference for men. It kinda put me off.”

“So… what?” He seems like he’s having a hard time processing it and I can’t say I blame him. Even I haven’t really processed it yet. “Wait… were you… you know… was that before or after you had your baby?”

“I got pregnant  _ from  _ being raped.” Everyone in the room seems a little uncomfortable hearing me talk about it but they need to know that it’s okay. It’s okay to talk about it. I’m not broken anymore. I can talk about it… “Yeah, like my first time having sex with a boy was being raped and then I got pregnant from it, so. My first sexual encounter with a boy pretty much sucked. But my first sexual relationship with a girl was with my current girlfriend and it was very different, which is how I know that I am what I am. Gay.”

“So you… had a baby… by your rapist… and he’s not… in jail? He’s still alive? You had a baby by your rapist and your real daddy ain’t kill him?  _ Our  _ daddy ain’t kill him? He  _ raped  _ you and —“

“That’s enough of that kinda talk,” Mom picks the empty bowl that the peaches were in up off the table and her voice cracks when she says that, but it’s very firm and it lets me and Mykel know that we shouldn’t talk about it anymore. If I’m not mistaken… I think she might have tears in her eyes. “We ain’t talking like that no more. I ain’t hearing nothing else about that. I ain’t —“

The sound of my phone ringing and buzzing like crazy interrupts her talking, so I spring up and go over to the counter to pick it up.

And I’m surprised when I see that it’s Shelby calling me.

* * *

“I know I can’t keep dropping by like this but I seriously was over this way. I had to stop at the pharmacy and get Beth’s medicine and I was just gonna call you later but then I thought that the conversation might go over better in person.” Shelby holds sleeping Beth against her chest and continues to rock with her on the rickety porch swing.

I lean against the railing that wraps around the porch instead of sitting beside her because for one, I can look her in the eye from where I’m standing and for two, I don’t think that swing can support us both.

“What kind of medicine did Beth get?”  _ I forgot she had a doctor’s appointment today…  _ “Is she okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. She just has a little bit of baby bronchitis, which is why that cough she’s got won’t go away. They gave us something to help with her breathing — a breathing treatment. She has to do it twice a day for ten days, and then they gave her another antibiotic. She’s okay.”

“Well that’s good. Did you give her the treatment yet? How does she take it?”

“The doctor gave her one at his office and she did really well, actually. She didn’t mind having the mask on her face. She sat really still and kept it on while I was holding her.” Shelby cranes her neck to the side so she can check and see if Beth is still sleeping and she is. Her eyes are still closed and her cheek is still smashed against Shelby’s chest. “So yeah, look. The reason why I needed to talk to you is because I have something to ask you.”

“Okay, go ahead. I’m listening.”  _ Please don’t ask me to stop seeing Beth… please don’t take her away from me. _

“So Rachel invited me to have Thanksgiving dinner with her dads tomorrow. And I know it’s really short notice and I know that it’s Thanksgiving, but I could really use your help with watching Beth tomorrow. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for her to be there when it’s the first time I’m seeing the Berrys in sixteen — almost seventeen — years. I don’t really think she should be there for that. I know it’s super short notice and I’ll pay you extra, I just —“

“Are you sure?” I ask her that because it kind of feels like I’m dreaming.  _ Is she really telling me that I can have Beth on Thanksgiving? _

“I… what?”

“Are you sure? Sure that you want me to watch her tomorrow, I mean it’s... it’s her first Thanksgiving and of course I want to see her and have her with me, but are you sure? That you don’t mind missing it?”

“I think it’s important for me to go be with Rachel for a couple hours. I think she could benefit from seeing her fathers and I having a civil relationship. It’s only for a few hours and I’ll still be with Beth, just later in the day.” She presses her lips to Beth’s forehead. “Besides… I think she should be with you for Thanksgiving, too. Even if it’s just for a couple of hours.”

“Shelby, I… thank you.” I shake my head, still in disbelief. “Thank you.”

“You’re really doing me a favor, Quinn. It’s nothing.” She waves her hand at me. “So it’s gonna be early. I told Rachel I’d be there around 1:30 because me and Beth do have plans to go to my friend’s house later in the day. So it’s gonna be early. Around 11:00-12:00 I’ll be bringing her to you so I can get ready and stuff. Is that okay?”

“Well why doesn’t she just…” I start saying it before I actually think about it and now that I think about it, I’m almost certain that she’d say no...

“Why doesn’t she just what?”

“...I was gonna say…” I take a deep breath. “I was gonna say why doesn’t she just stay the night with me? Since 12:00 is around her nap time and she wouldn’t have to be woken up. And it’s early, so… I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

“Quinn…” she shakes her head. “I don’t think Beth’s ready for that just yet. I’m sorry, honey. I just don’t think she’s ready for that just yet. I’ll just bring her to you. It’ll be fine.” She keeps shaking her head.

“I just thought that it would be easier since it’s gonna be an early morning and then 12:00 is her nap time… and then you wouldn’t have to bring her to me and then go home to get dressed, you could just god to Rachel’s from home. But it’s fine, I was just thinking.”

Shelby looks at me when I say that it’s fine and I think she can sense the heartbreak in my voice.

_ But it really is fine… I knew she’d say no. _

* * *

“Stop tasting everything!” Mom yells at Dad as she holds the spoon over her head like she’s going to smack him with it. “Get out my kitchen, Jared.”

“Just lemme taste the ham, ‘Tricey. Just one little taste!” Dad opens mouth and grins when Mom shoves a piece of ham inside it. “Where the kids at?”

“‘Cedes and ‘Kel went down in the basement to give Whitney and Bobby a bath before everyone come over here tomorrow. Quinn went outside to talk to Shelby about something.” Mom eats a piece of the ham herself. “I’m worried about her.”

“Why so? She seemed alright to me when we were talking earlier.”

“Yeah, but I bet she’s missing her mama. I mean I don’t understand how she can miss someone who be treating her like that but it is her mama and it’s Thanksgiving. I bet she’s missing on her.”

“Well why don’t you go talk to her? When she comes inside, sit her down and talk to her. Let her know you understand if she’s missing her parents and let her know that we love her and stuff. Just talk to her. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I just don’t wanna push her too hard, yanno? I mean, she’s my baby and of course I wanna protect her but I don’t wanna push her away from her mama. It might make her hate me. You think I pushed too hard? You think I shouldn’t’a told her she can’t talk to Judy?”

“I dunno, love,” Dad wipes some of the ham glaze off Mom’s lip with his thumb. “I know we just try to do what’s right for her. We try to do what’s right for all our babies.”

Finally, when I feel like it’s a good place to interrupt, I clear my throat to let them know I’m standing here. They both look at me at the same time, but their eyes don’t fall on me. Their eyes fall on the person that I’m carrying on my hip instead.

Beth has her head on my shoulder and she’s still a little sluggish from having just woken up, but Mom and Dad both gasp when they see her.

“We’re having a sleepover tonight,” I smile whenever I tell them the good news.


	56. You’re Mine

I use my shoulder to brace the phone against my ear so I can unzip the diaper bag that Shelby dropped off for Beth a few minutes ago. I could just go ahead and put Rachel on speaker instead of trying to hold the phone steady with my shoulder, but Rachel is a loose canon when she’s as nervous as she is right now, so I don’t want to risk putting her on speaker and having anyone else hear what she is saying. Besides, there isn’t much of me and Rachel’s relationship that remains private. Every time we do something, I either end up telling Mercedes or she ends up telling Kurt and it just seems like we constantly share what we have with other people. I know it’s just a simple phone call, but it’s something that I want to keep private.

She’s starting to regret inviting Shelby to her house for dinner tomorrow. I don’t know for sure, so I can’t say anything with certainty, but I think she wasn’t expecting for Shelby to actually say yes. I think she thought she was going to offer and Shelby was going to thank her but politely decline the invitation by making up some sort of event that her and Beth already have planned for Thanksgiving. But Shelby said yes, told her that she’d love to have dinner with her and her dads, and now Rachel is freaking out.

I called her just to tell her that Shelby is letting me keep Beth overnight, and it turned into a fifteen minute conversation about how nervous she is. And obviously I don’t mind talking Rachel down from whatever ledge she gets herself on, I just wish she’d have picked a better time to have a nervous breakdown. Mercedes and Mom are in the bathroom giving Beth a bath and I’m trying to unpack her diaper bag to see what kind of pajamas that Shelby brought over, but it’s kind of hard to concentrate when my girlfriend is going on and on and on and on.

“Well if you want, you can come over here for a couple hours,” I suggest as I lay Beth’s long sleeved pink and white striped pajama shirt and the matching pants with a unicorn on the butt across my quilt. “Beth’s getting a bath right now but after that, we’re not really doing anything. I’m probably just gonna sit around with her until she falls asleep, so you can come sit with us for a while.”

“I would love to, but I seriously can’t.” The way she sighs into the phone makes it sound all rustled and unclear. “I ducked off onto the porch so I could talk to you for a little, but I have to get back inside. My dads are making a bunch of food for tomorrow and I’m supposed to be helping. I know it’s weird, but I kind of want everything to be perfect tomorrow. For Shelby.”

“Well, babe,” I pull one single diaper out of her bag and the baby lotion too. “You’ve gotta stop stressing. It’s gonna be okay. I know you’re nervous but think about how much easier it’s going to be when it’s over.”

“I just don’t think I can go through with it. You don’t know how close I am to texting Shelby and telling her not to even come anymore, I… why did I do this?”

“Well what’s making you the most nervous right now?” After I have all of Beth’s things laid out on my bed, I sit down so I can get comfortable for when I have to talk Rachel out of her own neurosis. “Like out of all the things running through your head, which one is making you the most nervous?”

“I just feel like they might not like her,” she mumbles and I wonder if maybe she’s mumbling because her dads are near and she doesn’t want them to hear. I hear a door shut on her end of the phone but I don’t know if she went back inside or is coming outside. “Like after everything… after Shelby leaves and stuff, they might just pull me aside and be like “look, we don’t like her and you can’t see her.” Imagine how shitty that would be.”

“Well they liked her seventeen years ago, didn’t they? When they screened her and decided she was the one they wanted to carry their baby, they liked her then. So why do you think they won’t like her now?”

“That’s just the thing,” she says and I hear another door close on her end and I’m convinced that she just locked herself in her bedroom to talk. “It was seventeen years ago. You know how much people can change in seventeen years. I doubt that Shelby is the same person she was seventeen years ago. And then…” she sighs and if I know Rachel as well as I think I know Rachel, that sigh came from tears. She’s crying right now and it’s killing me to not be there wiping her tears.

“And then what, baby? What else are you thinking?” _ I call this “Soft Quinn.” She only comes out for Beth, Rachel and the occasional Mercedes or Santana. She does not call anyone else “baby”, though. That is specifically reserved for Rachel and Beth. Specifically. _“Don’t cry, just tell me what’s the matter.”

She breathes deeply into the phone and I hear her breath quaking with her tears and GOD, this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. To sit here on my bed and listen to my girlfriend crying and knowing that I could make it stop if I was there to hold her hand… _ Mom and Dad and Mercedes and Mykel wouldn’t mind if I left Beth with them for an hour. It would only be for an hour. I just have to get to Rachel and calm her down. I’d be back in no time. _

“What if they love her?” Her voice is still trembling and my heart feels like it’s about to bust out of my chest and skitter across town to her bedroom. “I don’t know what’s worse.”

“Why would loving her be a bad thing?”

“Because then they have to share me. My dads haven’t shared me with anyone for seventeen years and then suddenly, they have to share me with her? I just don’t know how that could ever be okay. My dads… Quinn, you don’t understand. They would implode. There’s no possible way they’d ever be okay with sharing me but if they actually like Shelby then they would feel like they have to and it would ruin everything. It would ruin _ everything. _I think I just ruined their lives. I ruined their lives, Quinn. After everything they’ve done for me… I just ruined everything. No wonder everyone says I’m selfish…”

“Rachel, listen to me.” I fold my legs and switch the phone to my other ear to give my one ear a break. “Your dads are grown men. If they didn’t want to invite Shelby over for dinner, they would have just told you no. You didn’t ruin anything. If they weren’t fully prepared to open this door and possibly allow Shelby into your life, they would have never agreed. You didn’t ruin anything. You —“

“You don’t know them…” Her voice cracks again and I swear to God if I hear her actively crying one more time, I’m getting in my car and going over there. I can’t take hearing her cry. It does something to me. “They love me so much, they’d do anything I want them to do. Anything. Even if they aren’t ready to have my mom in our lives, they’d do it just because it’s something that I want. You don’t know my dads. They do anything to make me happy. And I’ve always just… taken advantage of that, you know? But now… now I think I’m going to hurt them and I… I don’t know how to fix it. I just wanted them to meet Shelby so bad… I just wanted to stop sneaking off to see her…”

“You have three people who love you, though. You have three people who love you and want the best for you. They’re doing this for you. They’re doing this because you’re their daughter and they love you and they want to come together for _ you _, Rachel. This is for you. You’ve got to stop freaking out like this. I know you’re worried and I know you’re scared about what’s going to happen, but you wanted this. You’ve wanted this for a long time. You —“

“I went behind their backs, Quinn. That’s what I did. I found the contract in the attic before I even went to meet my mom, and it said that she can’t contact me until I’m eighteen. That’s what my dads wanted. So I went behind their back. I went behind their back, I didn’t honor what they wanted, I found Shelby myself and now I’m just ruining everything. Nobody ever wanted that. This isn’t the way things were supposed to be.”

“Well so what? I mean, sometimes things don’t work out. My life wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to be seventeen years old with a baby and not even living in my own house. I was never supposed to be like this, but it’s… it’s fine, okay? Sometimes things don’t work out and it’s for the best. You’ve got to calm down. You have to. If you don’t calm down, tomorrow will be an absolute disaster and not because your dads and Shelby like each other or dislike each other. It’s going to be a disaster because you’re going to fall apart and all these people who love you — myself included — will be rushing to put you back together because that’s just what we do. Try to calm down. Try. Because everything is going to be alright. Okay? We’ll cross all these bridges when we get there but right now, we’re not there. Tomorrow you can freak out about ruining things but tonight, I just want you to be excited. Your parents are meeting each other for the first time. You should be excited and celebrating that, babe. Not crying hysterically into the phone because you think you did something that you haven’t even done yet. You don’t know what’s going to happen. Promise me you’ll try to calm down?”

“I promise…” She sniffs and her voice sounds so much clearer, which makes me relax a little now that I know she’s not crying anymore. “I just think I made a mistake. I think I was too hasty, I should’ve thought about it first. But I wanted to tell them about Beth.”

“What do you mean?” For some reason, I feel myself getting a little bit defensive. I mean I know Beth is Rachel’s sister and she has a right to speak about her, but I… I don’t know, I feel weird about it? Like I don’t want her to tell anyone anything about Beth? I don’t know. “Tell them what about Beth?”

“Well… you know how at the festival, I just kept telling them that Beth was your daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“I never told them that she’s my sister. I didn’t tell them that my mom adopted her. I just told them that you gave her up for adoption and the adoptive parents let you see her from time to time. So at the fair… I don’t know, I guess I just felt like I needed to tell them. And I thought… I thought what better way to tell them that your baby is my sister than to just invite my mom for Thanksgiving?”

“I think everyone will understand.” If I were with her in the flesh, this is when I would reach over and hug her. “Nobody thinks you did this maliciously, Rach. Everyone knows that you’ve been curious. You’re a teenage girl who needs her mom. I think your dads can understand your curiosity.”

“I need them to understand my selfishness first.”

“Stop it. Stop talking about yourself like that. It’s not selfish for you to want to know your mom. She’s your mom and Shelby’s… she’s great. I’d want to know her too.”

“You would?”

“I would.”

“...Thanks for calming me down, Quinn. I really don’t know what I would’ve done without you. I was freaking out and I was having a panic attack and I was so scared. I just… I needed you tonight. Thanks for being there.”

“Anytime. You know I’d do anything for you.” Even from down the hallway, I can hear it whenever either Mercedes or Mom lets the water out of the tub, so I know they’ll be bringing Beth in here shortly to get dressed. “Hey, listen. I’m gonna go now because I think they’re done giving Beth a bath. But after you’re done with your dads and Shelby, you should come over here tomorrow. We’re gonna play games and sing karaoke after dinner and I think the family would actually like to meet you.”

“Are you sure Mercedes is okay with that? This isn’t a plot to get me into the house so she can cut my head off, is it?”

I laugh a little at first, but I can tell she’s serious about being wary of coming over. “No, I promise. We talked about it and she’s not mad anymore. It was her idea to invite you, actually.”

“Well… okay. I’ll come. I’ll text you tomorrow when I’m leaving my house. Okay?”

“Alright. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And almost as if they’re right on cue or something, Mercedes and Mom both come back into my room as soon as I hang up the phone with Rachel. Beth’s all covered up in a fluffy brown towel and her wet hair is sticking to her forehead. She chews on the corner of the towel and keeps her head down, resting on Mom’s shoulder. I wonder if she’s sleepy. It’s kind of hard to tell because she’s a naturally cuddly baby and she likes to put her head down even when she’s not sleepy. But her head is on Mom’s shoulder and she hardly even knows Mom, so either that means she’s sleepy or just really comfortable with Mom. I’m not sure which.

“There’s Quinn!” Mom presses her lips to the top of Beth’s head and points at me. “I told you she was still here, didn’t I?”

“Hi, baby!” I hold my arms out for her and she immediately leans toward me. “Are you all clean? Hmm? You smell good.” I wrap the towel around her a little tighter so she’s not cold and kiss her right on her tiny little lips. “Was she crying for me?”

“A little,” Mercedes sits down and starts combing her fingers through Beth’s wet curls. “She kept looking out the door. She kept turning her head so she could look out the door. Like she was looking for you or something.”

“Aww,” I hold her up so I can get a good look at her and maybe it’s weird, but I do that sometimes. Sometimes I just hold her out in front of me and up in the air so I can look at her. I don’t know, she still feels too good to be true. It still feels like something as beautiful as her shouldn’t have came from something as horrible as what Puck did to me. And sometimes I still can’t believe that she’s mine. I can’t believe that she was the one growing inside of me for eight and a half months and that she belongs to me.

As I hold her up, she looks down into my eyes and starts blowing spit bubbles. It’s so weird because everything she does is just so exciting and magical to me. She blows spit bubbles and I’m in love. She puts her head on my chest and I’m in love. She coughs and I’m in love. She breathes and I’m in love. She poops so gross and it’s all up her back and I’m gagging but thinking about how much I love her. It’s so weird. Is this what being a parent is supposed to be like?

“You wanna get dressed? Hmm? You wanna put a diaper on your butt? And put your jammies on?” I put her down on the bed in front of me and her face crumbles up for a moment, which means she didn’t want me to put her down. I think. I’m still learning Beth’s language.

“I’ll get her dressed,” Mercedes says as she grabs the pajamas I laid out for her.

“I can do it.” I grab the lotion and Beth’s diaper as I start to unwrap her towel.

“Quinn, seriously. You have her all the time. I want my turn. She’s my niece. You’re depriving me of my rights as an auntie.” She holds her hands out like I’m actually going to give her the diaper and the lotion. “Let me get her dressed.”

“Mercedes, move. She’s my baby, I’ll get her dressed.” I start by rubbing the towel across Beth’s hair to dry it off. “I let you guys give her a bath. I’ll get her dressed.”

“Yeah, well Mom took over the bath too! I didn’t get to do anything!”

“You was gonna get water all up in that baby’s eyes!” Mom sits down on the bed too instead of lingering by the door. “Beth said she don’t like neither one you. She said neither one of you know what you doing. She said she wanna stay with me.” She holds her hands out to Beth just like I did a minute ago. “Come on, little squish. Come with grams. I’ll get you all lotioned up and soft.”

“Little squish?” I raise my eyebrow at her and keep drying my baby’s hair. “What the heck is that?”

“The same tired ass nickname she gave me and my brother growing up!” Mercedes replies. “Mom, it’s time to get some new ones. Beth don’t wanna be called ‘squish.’ Pick something new.”

“You mind your damn business and watch your mouth.” Mom picks Beth up and even though I wanted to put lotion on her and get her dressed myself, I don’t really feel like I can argue with Mom. “Don’t you be telling me how to handle this baby. When you done had two babies and raised two babies, then you can tell me what to do. Until then, both uh you shut up.”

I have to fight off a laugh because I can’t tell if she’s joking or being serious. Usually when Mom yells at me and Mercedes like that, she’s joking. She doesn’t cuss at us and yell at us like that very often but sometimes she does, so I can’t really tell the difference. I think she’s joking. And I think it’s pretty damn cool how she can be barking at us to shut up and mind our businesses but still be so gentle with the way she starts rubbing baby lotion on Beth’s torso.

“Quinn, where’s her t-shirt?” Mom asks as she straps a diaper on Beth’s bare butt.

“Right here.” I hand her the long-sleeved pajama shirt that Shelby packed.

“No, not that. A t-shirt.” She continues rubbing lotion on both of Beth’s chubby legs. “Where’s her t-shirt?”

“What do you mean?” I grab the diaper bag and unzip it again. “Those are her pajamas, that’s what she packed.”

“You mean to tell me Shelby ain’t pack this baby no t-shirt?” She’s gentle with the way she rolls Beth onto her stomach to put lotion on her back.

“There’s this…” I pull out a plain white onesie that snaps between her legs and hold it up.

“That’s what I was talking about, give it here.” She takes it off of me and starts putting it over Beth’s head. “You was gonna them pajamas on her without no t-shirt underneath?”

“I mean… yeah? They’re her pajamas… I don’t know why she’d need a onesie under her jammies.” I shrug and look at Mercedes, who rolls her eyes.

“Lemme ask you two something.” She puts the long sleeves on Beth next, over the onesie. “When you put on a shirt that has a design on it, ain’t you put on a tank top or something under it so it don’t itch?”

“Sometimes…” I nod and so does Mercedes.

“Well you dress the baby like you dress yourself. You don’t know if her pajamas is gonna itch her or not. So put something on that’s comfortable first. And plus, it’s winter. She need some layers on her so she don’t get cold.”

“...So that’s why Shelby puts tank tops underneath literally all her clothes…” _ I get it now. Maybe that’s something that comes with experience. I’ve only been a mother for almost nine months and only been active in Beth’s life for nearly two. Maybe I would’ve learned about the undershirt rule with more experience… _“...This is why I gave her up for adoption. I’d be a horrible mother.”

“No you wouldn’t have!” Mercedes nudges me with her elbow. “You would’ve been fine!”

“Mercedes, I’m clueless. I thought being a mom was all about just like… cuddling when you need to and making sure she eats and is changed. I’d be horrible at this if I had to do it all the time.”

“Well somebody just gotta teach you.” Mom finishes up by putting socks on Beth’s feet and picks her up. “You ain’t just gonna know these things overnight. Somebody gotta teach you how to be a mama. It’ll come together. You’ll get it. I was clueless too when I first had ‘Kel, but my mama taught me and showed me the ropes. When I had ‘Cedes, I was an old pro. It comes with time and experience.”

She hands Beth back to me and I run my fingers through her curls just so they lay the way I always like for her hair to lay. As soon as she’s back in my arms, she rubs her fingers across my nose and my lips. She smiles whenever I kiss her hand.

“Sometimes I start to regret not keeping her…” I admit and continue kissing my baby’s chubby hand. “Sometimes I think about it and I think I could have done it. It would’ve been hard with school and everything but even if I had to drop out and just get my GED or something, I would’ve done that for her. I could have done this. And I get sad thinking about it because I know I could have done it. I know I could have. She loves me and that really… it sucks, you know? She loves me and if I wouldn't have given her up, she’d never have to leave me.” _ I’ve never really said this to anyone except my therapists… _“But now I’m thinking about it and… and I wouldn’t have had someone to teach me. My mom — Judy, I mean — she wouldn’t have… taught me. She’d have just stepped in and did everything herself. I would’ve never learned how to be a good mom…” I look away from Beth and at Mom and Mercedes. “...I made the right choice, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mercedes nods and puts her hand on my shoulder. “She has a good life and you’re able to have the life you deserve, too.”

“But do I? Deserve a life without her, I mean. I had sex, I made that decision, I shouldn’t be able to just… dump the consequences of sex off on someone else just so I can be a normal teenager again.”

“You ain’t make that decision though.” Mom stands up like she’s about to leave and I know she’s about to, because she doesn’t like to hear me talk about things like sex. She hates to talk about sex when it comes to me. “You hear me? You ain’t make that decision and if I ever hear you say anything about deserving consequences from that, I’m gonna smack you silly and then smack your therapist silly too. You don’t accept consequences for what happened. That was not your decision.”

“I know, but —“

“But nothing. I could see where you’re coming from if you decided to lie down with that boy and do something that could make a baby but you ain’t decide nothing. You ain’t tell nobody to get on top of you and make that baby. So you ain’t gotta accept shit and certainly not no consequences.” She takes a deep breath after rambling and heads for the door. “Bring that baby back downstairs. Imma go check on this food.”

She leaves and I turn to look at Mercedes, hoping that she’ll understand what I was trying to say. I know I didn’t decide to lie down and have sex with Puck. But the fact is that I put myself in that position. I was making out with him, that was something I said yes to. I made out with him, I knew that it could have led to something else and it did. I didn’t decide to have sex with him and I didn’t want him to rape me, but he did. He did and when I got pregnant, Beth became my responsibility… right? So how is it fair that I get to just… dump her off on someone else? She should’ve been my baby to keep… right?

“I think you made the right call,” Mercedes stands up too. “Why should you have to sit around and look at a baby that you didn’t consent to making? You got lucky that Beth’s a girl and looks nothing like him, but what if she did? What if she was a boy and looked like him? Then you’d be stuck with a baby who looks like the guy who raped you. That would suck.”

“It’s not like that though.” I shift Beth so that she’s lying in my arms and I look down at her. She looks up at me with those beautiful little eyes and those chubby little cheeks and she is just everything in this world that is good. “I don’t see him when I look at her. I see… I see my baby. She’s my baby… and I should be taking care of her. I don’t look at her and see Puck… I see… me.”

“Nobody’s saying that you shouldn’t love your baby, Quinn. Nobody’s saying that at all. What I’m saying is that maybe… maybe it’s time you stop using Beth to dismiss what Puck did you. Just because you got a beautiful little baby out of it doesn’t mean what he did to you was… fate or whatever.”

_Is Mercedes right? Do I use Beth to lessen what Puck did to me…?_

* * *

Somehow, I let Mercedes talk me into letting her be the one to carry Beth downstairs. She hasn’t cried since she’s been here and she’s been letting me pass her to other people, but it’s me that’s starting to get a little flustered. I thought that having a sleepover with her would mean lots of extra kisses and cuddles for me and we’d get to know each other because tonight will be the longest I’ve ever been with her. But so far, it’s just a bunch of me sharing her with people. And I’m not mad about it, I’m not. I’m really glad that she has all these people who love her, actually. But I don’t want to share her anymore. Call me selfish, but I want my baby. She’s mine, after all.

But that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen anytime soon, because as soon as me and Mercedes hit the last step, Dad practically bumrushes us and wraps his hands around Beth.

“Finally!” He starts lifting her out of Mercedes arms and Mercedes knows better than to snatch her back. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you! Yeah. I’ve been dying to see you, little girl.” He starts swaying back and forth with Beth and I’m waiting for her to scream or cry and she never does, which is a little irritating because that’s how I would’ve gotten her back. If she’d have cried, he’d have let me take her.

“Dad!” Mercedes yells at him and follows him into the kitchen as he’s still holding Beth. “You have no idea how hard it was to get Quinn to give her to me! Give her back! You’ll have your turn!”

“Oh hush, ‘Cedes.” He sways back and forth with my baby in his arms and the two of them watch Mom check on the food in the oven. “I been waiting all night to get her.” He looks at Beth and starts talking in a baby voice, which sounds funny coming from him. “Yes I have. Yes I have. Uh huh. I’ve been waiting all night to see you, little lady. You want some turkey? And some potatoes? You gonna eat tomorrow? How else you gonna keep up with that figure if you don’t eat?” He keeps cooing at her and Beth opens her mouth and starts jabbering back at him like they’re having a conversation. “I know. I know you’re hungry, I know these people don’t feed you. You want some mashed potatoes? Of course you do. Piggy lady,” he pokes Beth’s stomach and she laughs so hard that her face turns red.

“Mykel, Mercedes and Quinn. Why don’t you three run to the store for me?” Mom closes the oven and tears a list off her notepad. “I need some last minute stuff for dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay, fine,” I take the list from her and turn to Mercedes and Mykel. I won’t lie, I’m a little nervous to leave Beth here. But she’s having a good time with Dad and of course I trust them with her, so I’ll go. “I’ll drive.”

It makes me feel better about leaving her when I look down the hallway and into the kitchen, and see my dad still making her laugh by poking her stomach and calling her “piggy lady.” I know she’s safe here and that makes me happy.

But it also kind of makes me sad because this is exactly the kind of life I would have wanted for my little girl and maybe if I’d have kept her, this could have been it.

_ Am I starting to regret giving her to Shelby? _

* * *

I won’t lie, I thought everyone was kidding when I read all those mommy blogs while I was pregnant. Every night before I went to sleep, I’d read blogs from new moms and the one thing they always complained about was being tired and running on very little hours of sleep.

I thought they were all being dramatic. I knew that babies make their own schedules and they’re hard to get to go to sleep sometimes, but I really thought the new moms were being dramatic when their chief complaints were that they were tired and only sleeping two hours a night. I thought that they were just women who are used to sleeping eight hours and they weren’t prepared for their baby. I didn’t think it could possibly be that bad and I thought two hours a night was a gross exaggeration.

Well, I’m here to tell you that I, Lucy Quinn Fabray, was so VERY wrong.

When I go to open my eyes the next morning, they feel like they have ten pounds bricks just weighing them down and preventing me from opening them. I have a very faint headache behind my eyes and my body feels like someone went inside of me and unhinged all my joints. I feel like I’m falling apart in the most literal sense of the word.

She woke up every two hours. And I am not grossly exaggerating.

At first, I thought it was going to be fine. She fell asleep on Dad’s lap at around 10:00, which is late for her when she’s usually in bed and asleep by about 8:30. It was late when she finally fell asleep but I chalked it up to her just being excited and in a new place. We were watching a movie all piled up in the living room while Mom finished up some more of the food and I looked over and she was sleeping. I took her upstairs, tucked her into my bed, put my pillows around her, then went back downstairs to finish the movie.

After the movie was over, I went upstairs to join her in my bed and go to sleep as well. She let me sleep until 12:45 midnight, then woke me up with her crying. As as soon as I turned the light on and she saw my face, she calmed down a little bit but then I thought that she might be hungry because she hadn’t gotten a bottle in a while. I made her one with the bottles of water and formula and rice cereal that Shelby packed in her diaper bag. She ate the entire thing in ten minutes flat then went back to sleep and I thought we were in the clear.

Then it was almost 3:30 when she woke up again and cried her eyes out for the second time. I tried to make her another bottle but she didn’t want it, which made sense I guess because she shouldn’t have been hungry. Instead, I just pulled her closer to me and let her lay on my chest and she fell asleep again.

I looked over at my clock when started crying again and it wasn’t even 5:00 in the morning yet. She was screaming her head off and I don’t remember what I did to calm her down after that, I just know that she stopped crying eventually and that was it. I’ve been sleeping ever since but I set my alarm to go off at 8:30 because that’s when she wakes up and gets her breakfast.

But when I open my eyes and check my phone to see what time it is, it’s only 8:15. And Beth isn’t awake and she isn’t crying, so maybe I can milk these last fifteen minutes… I’m so tired…

I lock my phone again, then roll over to get comfortable enough to go back to sleep, but when I feel the right side of my bed… it’s empty. Completely empty.

“Beth…?” I spring up and look over just to make sure I’m not losing my mind. _ Maybe I just didn’t feel her or something, I don’t know. _

But I’m not losing my mind. She’s really not here! Her bottle, still full, is still lying on the pillow like I left it and her long sleeved pajama shirt is still at the bottom of the bed where I tossed it after I felt her sweating last night. All the signs that my baby was in this bed with me are there, but my baby isn’t here! Where is she?!

“Beth!” I climb out of my bed immediately and don’t even bother to change out of my skimpy pajama shorts and into pajama pants. I drop down to my knees and check under my bed. _ I would have heard her cry if she rolled out of the bed. I would’ve heard it._

_ Oh my god, where is my baby?!_

I practically sprint for the steps and run down them so fast that I make Whitney and Bobby start barking but I don’t care. Where is my child? I went to sleep with my child next to me and I woke up and she’s gone! She’s gone! This is the kind of stuff that horror movies are made of! I would’ve felt someone take her! They would have had to reach over me because I slept on the outside part. I put her closest to the wall, so they would have had to reach over me to grab her.

“Mom…? Dad…?” I reach the bottom of the steps and I know they’re awake already because I hear water boiling on the stove and the morning news is on in the living room. Mykel is still on the couch sleeping, though. “Mom… have you seen Beth?” I stop in the living room to look around first. “She’s not in my room!”

I head for the kitchen next and all my panic just washes away the second I see her, in her jammie pants and her white onesie with her hair all over the place. She’s sitting on top of the table in front of Mom, eating little pieces of ripped up pancake.

“Oh god…” I sigh in relief and immediately pick her up. “I almost had a heart attack!”

“You know where she was,” Mom uses a baby wipe to clean Beth’s sticky hands. “She just woke up a little bit ago.”

“You should’ve told me you were taking her.” I press my lips to my baby’s sticky cheek and fix her messy bed hair. “I woke up in a tizzy.”

“I came and got her around five when I heard her up in your room crying.” She cleans up the little bit of pancake that Beth didn’t eat and throws the plastic plate in the garbage. “She cried all night, I thought you needed some sleep. I put her up in the bed between me and Jared and she was sleep for a while. She stayed sleep until she woke up a little bit ago.”

“Thank you,” I shift Beth onto my other hip and kiss her again. “I was so tired last night.”

“I know, baby.” She stirs the noodles that are boiling in the pot, then moves on to stick a fork in the potatoes that are cooling.

“You need any help with dinner?”

“Nah, I should be good. If you wanna help with something, when ‘Kel and ‘Cedes wake up, I need you three to straighten up the living room. That’s where we play the games and sing at.”

“Okay, I will. I’m gonna go get Beth cleaned up and dressed, I’ll be right back.”

“Go on.”

As I head back up the steps to my room so I can see what outfit Shelby packed for me to dress Beth into, I realize how stupid I was to panic. Of course Mom had her. Nobody in this house can listen to my baby crying and not do anything to help her. I should’ve known Mom had her.

As soon as I put Beth back onto my bed and grab the diaper bag from my nightstand, I grab my phone to shut my alarm off before it goes off in a few minutes.

But when I go to open my phone up, I have a text message…

**New iMessage**

**Thursday, November 28**

**8:22 a.m.**

**FRANNIE: **Happy Thanksgiving Little Luce! I’ll Be In Lima In One Hour. Send The Address To Where You’re Staying. I Can’t Wait To See You!


	57. Family Affair

“Say when.”

After I shake the can of whipped cream, I pop the cap off the nozzle and squirt a huge mound of it in the middle of the perfectly round, yet-to-be-cut, absolutely delicious smelling, pumpkin pie from that bakery in Elida. Bailey watches as the pile of whipped cream gets bigger and bigger and I think she thinks that I’m going to want to stop putting it on top of the pie before she’s ready for me to stop, but the joke is on her because I could eat whipped cream straight from the can without any pie present, so I’m certainly not going to object to having tons of it on top of our pie.

“I can keep going, I’m serious.” My finger starts to tremble as I press down on the nozzle, but I’m grinning the same way Bailey’s grinning right now.

“I like a lot of whipped cream,” she shrugs and watches my hand as the whipped cream starts dripping over the sides of the pie tin. “Okay, okay. When.”

I wipe the excess whipped cream off the nozzle with my finger and lick it off when I’m done. At long last, Bailey hands me a silver fork that clearly came from her house, then pushes the pie to the middle of the table. Before I dig in, I hold my fork out to hers and we clang them together as our own personal form of “cheers.”

“So,” she starts to talk through a mouth full of pie and whipped cream. 

She has whipped cream dribbling out the sides of her mouth but it’s just like a Saturday session with the way she doesn’t care. Her hair is tied at the top of her head in a very neat bun and she wears an Ohio State hoodie with a pair of black leggings. I know Bailey’s not my friend and I shouldn’t think of her like that, but it kind of feels like I’m just hanging out with my best friend.

“What’s new, Scooby Doo?” She digs another forkful of pie out the tin and holds it next to mouth. “Anything cool, new or exciting?”

“Beth called me ‘Mama.’” I swallow my mouth full of pie so I can talk and lick my lips.

“She WHAT?!” Bailey puts her fork down and her jaw drops. “You’re kidding! She’s like, what? Nine months?!”

“Nine months yesterday.” _ It feels good to not hold that in anymore. Rachel tried to talk to me about it on our way home from the festival but I didn’t really want to talk about it in front of her dads and she understood that. But then we kind of just forgot to talk about it at all and I’ve been saving it to talk to Bailey about because I feel like she’ll know what to say and do. _“We took her to the fair in Columbus. I had to watch her on Saturday, remember?”

“I remember, yeah.”

“Yeah, I had to watch her. So I just asked Shelby if I could take her to the fair with me and Rachel and she said we could. She was eating ice cream and she threw it all up so I had to leave and get napkins and as soon as I left, she reached for me and called me ‘Mama.’ It was so crazy.”

“So how do you feel?” She reaches down and produces a bottle of ginger ale and two plastic cups that also clearly came from her house. _ She remembered that I love ginger ale. _“When she said that, how did it make you feel? Was it cool? Or did you feel, like, guilty?”

“I guess a little bit of both.” I shrug and turn my cup of ginger ale up to my mouth whenever she finishes pouring it. “It was really cool hearing her call me that because that’s what I want to be. You know? I want to be her mama, I want her to know that I’m her mama, I want her to call me that. But then I started to feel weird about it because I think Shelby would be mad if she knew and I don’t want to do anything that might make her mad and have her take me away from Beth.”

“You think she’d do that?” Bailey sips her drink too. “I mean, deep down, do you really think Shelby would do that to you? And to Beth?”

“I don’t know… I don’t think so. But then I could see her getting really mad about it and acting on impulse. I could see both things happening, so I really don’t know.”

“Well I don’t think she’d do that.” Bailey shakes her head. “I don’t know her, so don’t take my word as the gospel truth or anything, but she seems fair. She seems like she’s pretty good with letting you be involved and like she doesn’t mind sharing Beth with you. She seems mature and levelheaded about the whole thing, I don’t really see her taking Beth away from you.”

“I guess I can’t see that either. She really does only care about what’s best for Beth and she’s always really understanding. We have a good relationship, I think. We text a lot about Beth and she tries to keep me in the loop about everything. Like she tells me when Beth has appointments and stuff. It’s kind of like… like coparenting in a way.”

“Well let me ask you this,” she picks her fork back up. “Whose idea was it to teach her to call you ‘mama’? Was it Shelby’s idea? Yours? Your mom’s? Mercedes’?”

“That was all Rachel’s doing. We sat there and ate ice cream and the whole time she’s teaching Beth to call me ‘Mama.’ I almost told her to stop but then… I don’t know, I didn’t really want her to stop, I guess.”

“Well that’s okay. You have a natural affinity to want to be close to your baby, Quinn. You do. It’s like, innate or something. It’s inside all us mothers. Even though Beth isn’t with you physically, she grew inside of you and she’s with you in that sense. She always will be. You have this… instinct, almost. It makes you want to be with your baby. It’s natural for you to want her to call you her mama, because you _ are _ her mama.”

“I guess, but I just don’t want her to do it in front of Shelby. Shelby’s been so nice to me. She doesn’t have to do anything that she does. I signed the papers, I signed all my rights away, and it’s supposed to be a closed adoption… kind of. I don’t know.”

“Kind of?”

“I didn’t know what I wanted. When I was pregnant with her, I didn’t think I wanted to see her. I mean, I thought giving her up would be hard enough and I didn’t want to get pictures every month seeing her because I thought that would hurt too bad. So… so I didn’t like, get a counselor or anything. I think… I honestly think that I thought I was going to keep her. I told everyone I was giving her up for adoption but that didn’t seem real. I think I thought that I was going to keep her all along or something. So I didn’t contact an agency or anything and I didn’t get a counselor. But then I had her and… and then I looked at her and I knew that I couldn’t. Keep her, I mean. I knew that I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I just knew that I couldn’t give her what she deserved to have and… and I don’t think I was in my right mind, Bailey. It’s all this big blur of things that come back in spurts, like… like I remember looking at her after they took her off of me. They cleaned her up and took her to the nursery and I was okay enough to walk down and see her. And I looked at her through that glass and I was thinking. I was thinking about what it was going to be like when we got home. Like how my mom was gonna have to teach me to make bottles and change a diaper and how tired I was going to be coming home from school and stuff. Puck was there, too. He stood next to me and we said a few things that I don’t really remember now, but I know he told me that he loved me. I don’t remember what I said after that or what I did, I just… I remember looking at her. Looking at her and thinking that there was no way in HELL I could be the mom that she deserves to have. ...Then Shelby showed up. I don’t even know why she was there, maybe she was just there for support or something, I don’t know. But she showed up and then… it felt right, I guess. For the first time, I felt like everything was okay. Like it was fate or something that brought her there. And sometimes I think about that when I’m holding her. When I’m holding her and I’m thinking — really thinking — that I could do this. I could go to school and be a mom and be really, really good for Beth. I hold her and I think about how it felt in the hospital when Shelby stood by me and told me she looked like me. How I felt like everything was going to be okay…” _ I’m so surprised I didn’t cry at all during this big long monologue I just gave her. _“I may have had her, Bailey. I may have given birth to her and carried her for eight and a half months, but Shelby was always meant to be her mom. I believe that.”

Bailey looks me in my eye and says absolutely nothing which is sometimes more powerful than saying anything at all. This is why I like Bailey as much as I do. I didn’t think I could like another therapist as much as I liked Jessica, but I think Bailey has officially taken her place and I’ve started finding myself wishing that I don’t get any better so I never have to stop seeing her.

She reaches across the table and lays her hand on top of my hand, which is again, more powerful than saying anything. _ I was so mean to her when I first started seeing her. I made fun of how skinny she is when deep down, she’s recovering from an eating disorder. I picked out the fact that she has gray in her hair but now I see that it’s a style choice and the gray is actually highlights which totally look great on her. I was so mean. I wish I could take it all back. _

“I think you should talk to Shelby.” She rubs her thumb against my knuckles for a few seconds then pulls her hand away. “I think you should talk to her and let her know what Rachel encouraged Beth to call you. Let her know that while you feel like ‘Mama’ may be an inappropriate title, you do need a title because her calling you ‘Quinn’ is also inappropriate. Let her know so that you two can come up with a title for Beth to call you _ together. _That sound good?”

“This is exactly why I waited to talk to you about this, because I knew you’d have the answers.” Now that I’ve gotten that whole “Beth calling me ‘Mama’” thing off of my chest, I can actually dig into the pie again. So I pick up my fork and dive back in.

“Happy to do my job and help,” she grins. “Anything else you waited to talk to me about? Or can we start talking about how your Thanksgiving went?”

“Yeah, one more thing,” I chew the big bite of pie I put in my mouth because if I keep talking with it full like that, I’m going to spit all over everything. “It’s gonna sound weird, but don’t judge me. Okay?”

“When do I ever judge you? If I was gonna judge you, I’d have done it when you told me you took LSD at a party.”

“Shut up,” I roll my eyes at her but it’s all playful and again, I know I should think this way. But she totally feels like my best friend. _ I wish I had known her when she was in high school. I wish she was a few years younger and in school with me so we could hang out on the weekends. Rachel and Mercedes and Santana would love her. She’d be in our group for sure. _

“I’m just saying,” she rolls her eyes back, more dramatically than I rolled mine. “You know I don’t judge. Just spill and we’ll see what I come up with.”

“So me and Rachel have sex. I told you that, right?” I wash my pie down with a sip of ginger ale.

“You may have mentioned it once or twice.” She finally flips open her notebook, which is the one thing that reminds me that she is my therapist and not my friend. “Something wrong with the sex, though?”

“Not really. I mean… yeah, I guess. I didn’t think there was something wrong with it, but Rachel thinks there is.”

“So what’s the problem? Step into my office, I’m a 28-year-old sex expert. A sexpert, if you will.” She mumbles as she writes, which makes me laugh.

“Rachel thinks that I won’t let her touch me. Which… I guess is true. I feel weird sometimes when she touches me. But only if it’s off guard or random.”

“What happens when it’s not off guard or random?”

“Well, I can usually talk myself into it. Like if we’re having sex and I know that she’s about to touch me somewhere, I can just get into my head and tell myself that it’s okay and talk myself into shutting off my brain long enough to enjoy it. But if it’s random and she catches me off guard, I didn’t have time to convince myself to just let go. And I feel weird about it and I get weird about it and she just notices and gets a little… mad. Because she thinks it’s her.”

“What do you mean by ‘weird?’ Do you like, panic? Get cold sweats? Nauseous? Black out? Dissociate? Define weird for me.”

“It’s not really anything like that. I just get like, stiff. I get stiff and make up some excuse about why she has to stop touching me. Like… like the other day. The day before yesterday, we did it. In my car. And then she went to touch me and I made this weird noise and then she touched me again and I told her that I had to go home. And I guess it happens a lot. I guess it’s something that I’ve done a lot because Rachel got mad and thought that I was trying to say that she disgusted me or something.”

“When you get weird like this…” her voice trails off as she writes one more word, then puts down her pencil. “Sorry, I was taking notes. But anyway, when you get weird like this, do you notice if your stomach gets sick? Or is it mostly just a very physical reaction? Like, does Rachel’s touch make you uncomfortable? Is the act of her physically touching you making you recoil? Or do you notice some physiological changes as well? Like a stomachache or a headache?”

“Not really. It just makes me get stiff and push her away. I don’t ever really feel sick about it, I just feel like… like I don’t want her to do it, almost. But I do want her to do it. In my mind I want her to do it but my body gets like… frozen or something.”

“Does it happen when she touches you everywhere? Or only when she’s touching your privates?”

“Only privates. I can kiss her fine and she can touch my neck or my arms or my back or my thighs or my face. But anywhere else, it just makes me lock up.”

“Does it happen more when she’s touching your boobs? Or more when she’s touching your hoo-ha?”

“Really…?” I feel my cheeks get hotter as they blush bright red. “Do I have to answer?”

“Quinn, stop it. I’m not worried about what you and Rachel do in the bedroom, I just need to know which one elicits a more physical response from you. The tits or the crotch?”

“The crotch, obviously. I feel like you already knew that, you just wanted to hear me say it!”

“...Maybe slightly.” She giggles and tucks some of her hair behind her ears. “But it sounds like you’re just having a physical reaction to the rape, which is normal. Your body went through something traumatic. I read your file the night before I met you and Jessica included some very… _ graphic _ details of what happened to you and it sounded like you were pretty… um… it sounded like it was brutal, to say the least.”

“She included everything…?”

“Everything that you told her, and everything that I needed to know.” She pulls my file from the stack of papers it was hiding under. “...I think it might help you if we looked through it a bit and really unpacked some of the things in the details. Only if you feel ready for it, though.”

“I’ll never be ready.”

“Then I won’t share it with you yet. It’s not my goal to re-traumatize you, Quinn. I just… want to help see you through it.”

“...What does it say? Does it talk about… about the…” _ I tried to push that out of my head. I tried really hard to push that out. I talked about it with Jessica and I swore that I would never talk about it again or even think about it again. Yet here I am… _“The blood?”

“We’re not gonna get into it today, okay? We’ll get into it when you’re ready. What’s important is that you understand that your body went through something very traumatic and from the details I got, it was extremely brutal and you’re working through that. So when Rachel touches you, it elicits a very physical response because —“

“It’s true, you know.” I bite the inside of my bottom lip on purpose. _ I feel okay. Maybe we don’t have to talk about all of it today, but we can talk about some of it. _“What it says in there about the blood. It’s true. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“I would never think —“

“It’s one of the things that sticks out in my memory _ so clear. _ I… I remember bits and pieces of that night every now and again but the one thing that I can’t forget is the blood. There was so much blood and I thought… I thought that I had started my period. I got up and… I got up put my skirt back on and when I looked at the bed, it was there. And he was cleaning it up like… like maybe he didn’t care? Or… or it’s happened before? I don’t know? I just heard him taking the sheets off his bed and I turned around and it was there. It was there and it was… it was a lot. I mean not a lot. It wasn’t like… like a puddle or anything, but it was… a lot. A few drips that were all the size of like… quarters. And they were all the same size, that’s weird, but they were. And it was all in a straight line. Where I was laying, it was all right there. And I saw it and then I felt it. It made my legs all sticky and I thought I started my period, because that’s the only reason I should be bleeding from there. But then it hurt. I mean, it _ really _ hurt. I took a shower and it _ hurt _ . The internet told me that it’s normal to get scrapes down there and _ in _there if your body isn’t lubricated enough. The blogs I read said to just keep it dry down there and the scrapes would heal on their own.”

“I’m proud of you.” She smiles at me softly, like maybe she doesn’t know what to say to what I just told her and that’s okay. I wasn’t really looking for her to say anything, really. I just wanted to share that with her, that’s all. “That’s not an easy thing to sit here and recollect and you’re doing it without shedding a single tear. I’m so proud of you.”

“Mercedes thinks I use Beth to dullen how horrific what Puck did to me was… do you think I do?”

“Do you think you do?”

“Maybe,” I shrug. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it anymore. Being angry is exhausting. And being angry feels like I hate that Beth is here, which I don’t. How could it be so horrible…? Him raping me? How could it be so horrible if I got a baby out of it?”

“It’s possible to feel both ways at the same time. It’s not a straight line, it’s not —“

“Do you believe in fate?”

“I do, a little. Why?”

“I was raised Catholic, so. You know. I was raised to believe that God has a plan. And what if was fate? Puck raping me is how I got Beth, so what if it was fate? And all part of God’s plan? What if I should… should be like… _ thanking _him? Because if he never raped me, I’d never have my baby and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.”

“Quinn. Look at me.” She leans across the table so that our eyes are completely locked and it’s super intense and I want to look away. “I am not about to let you take back all the steps you’ve made. You know deep down in your heart and in your mind that what happened between you and that boy was WRONG. It was not part of God’s plan and it was not fate. Beth is something beautiful that came out of something heinous but that doesn’t change the fact that it was heinous. She was the light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel was dark and the tunnel was horrible and the tunnel was not something you EVER should have had to go through. Do not, do not, do NOT rationalize any of his actions. I need you to get those thoughts out of your head RIGHT NOW.”

I look away from her eyes finally, and just put my head down and nod. _ I know she’s right. I know she is. But I’m just having the hardest time wrapping myself around all of this. I know that hating Puck doesn’t have to mean that I hate Beth. But how doesn’t this make me weak? I know what he did to me was wrong and he ruined my life. Really, he did. That one night changed so much for me and so many things fell apart after it. But how can I give one person the control to do that? How does that not make me weak? I wish I could just get over this already. Every time I feel like I’m going to be okay again, something just dredges it up and I feel like a crazy person all over again. I just want this to be gone. I want them to strap me to a table and shock my brain until I forget. _

“...So,” I sigh and put my chin down on the desk because I’ve given myself a slight headache now. I drum my fingers along the desk and inhale the scent of the pumpkin pie. “Any suggestions on how to break my body of not wanting to be touched? I just want to let my girlfriend touch me without locking up. I just want to have normal sex with my girlfriend.”

“Well…” She opens her notebook once again. “I’m gonna put a note here for when you see the psychiatrist again in two weeks. It might be something she can take care of by upping your meds. It’s a physical response, so you just need to relax and that’s something meds can help you with. But in the meantime… and I know this is going to sound weird, okay? I know. But bear with me. This is my professional recommendation and I wouldn’t suggest it unless I actually think it would help. Believe me. I don’t just go around suggesting this to every minor I work with.”

“I’ll try anything. I just don’t want Rachel to think I don’t want to sleep with her anymore, and I really don’t want to have a conversation about why she can’t touch me because I was raped so bad bled. I just need it to go away and stop happening. I’m desperate, Bail. I’ll try anything.”

“You should try touching yourself.”

“You want me to MASTURBATE?!” I pick my head up so fast that my headache intensified and I feel like my head is going to fly off. “You’re suggesting that I masturabte?!”

“That’s NOT what I said!” She puts her palm against her forehead and shakes her head in embarrassment. “I mean, yeah that’s what I said but that’s not what I meant!”

“I’m not masturbating! I’m NOT! I live in a house with three other people! Four right now, because the brother’s home. Plus two dogs! I’m not masturbating! That’s just… it’s… EW!”

“I didn’t mean it that way! God, Quinn! Chill out!” She keeps her palm against her forehead and a smile breaks across her face. “And even if I did mean it that way, so what?! All girls do it! It’s just not as widely talked about as men, it’s not gross!”

“Look, listen. I don’t care HOW you meant it, I’m not touching myself. I’ll take my chances with the medicine, I’m not touching myself.”

“You wanted my suggestion! You asked for my suggestion! And now you’re gonna mock it?!”

“I’m not mocking it, I’m just… I wouldn’t even… I don’t do that. I’m sure a lot of women do but I don’t. I don’t _ do _that.” I shake my head. “I just don’t.”

“Well it’s a good thing I wasn’t talking about masturbating, now isn’t it?” She finally takes her palm off her forehead and shakes her head at me a little more. “I’m talking about just touching your body. It doesn’t have to be sexual, it doesn’t have to be masturabting. I’m just saying to touch yourself. While you’re in the shower or before you fall asleep at night, just run your fingers along your body. Maybe start at your shoulders then work your way down to your torso. Then back up to your chest. Then back down to your hips. Then up to your chest again.” She demonstrates by doing it to herself and it looks really freaking weird, I’m not gonna lie. “Then you can go down to your pelvis and your vagina if you’re comfortable. And that’s just gonna get your body used to touches. It’s gonna get your body used to knowing the difference between good touches and bad touches. It’s gonna release all that anxiety. When you touch your chest and your vagina, you’ll tense up like you do when Rachel does it. But you’re just training your body to know that it’s okay and it’s a good touch. And if you get comfortable and it extends to actual masturbation, then that’s fine. It’s all about getting to know your body and getting to know what feels good for you so that you can extend that knowledge to Rachel and sex can be more healthy and enjoyable for you.”

“So… you want me to masturbate.” I close my eyes and my cheeks blush again. “Your homework to me is to try masturbating?”

“Those are not my exact words, but I do think that it could be healthy for you. I don’t knock it, I don’t shame it. Whatever you wanna do, Q. Whatever you wanna do.”

“Isn’t it weird, though? Like just laying there and like… you know… screwing yourself?”

“I think it’s beautiful. Why should your body be a stranger to you? And how do you expect someone to know what pleases you if _ you _don’t know what pleases you? Everyone does it, Quinn. You’re the outlier here.”

“Well I never thought about it! It’s not something that’s ever crossed my mind!” _ How is she NOT my best friend? We’re sitting here talking about masturbation. She has to be my best friend. I’ve never even talked to Mercedes about this stuff. _“I mean… I guess if you do it then it’s not… so bad…?”

“Everyone does it and those who tell you they don’t are probably lying.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head like she’s tired of me or something. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you, Quinn. I just don’t know.”

“Well you could tell me how your Thanksgiving was? Since we’re straying off course a bit.” I suggest.

“My Thanksgiving was great, thanks for asking. I sat on the couch and got ridiculously drunk with my best friend and when I got up to come here, I was extremely hungover.”

_Why did that kind of make me sad? She has someone that she gets drunk with. Why do I kind of wish that was me? She has friends. I’m not her friend. I kind of want to be her best friend that she gets drunk with. God, why do I think like this?_

“Well I admire you for doing this with a hangover.” I say. “You could have cancelled if you were that hungover, though.

“And miss eating pumpkin pie and talking about female self love with my favorite client? No thanks. She laughs. “How was yours? I’ve been dying to ask but we just kinda… went off subject a little.”

“Well actually… I’m glad we have a session today because mine was extremely eventful and I need to tell you all about it.”

“Well, I’m all ears and I’m all yours for the next 30 minutes, so. Lay it on me.”

“So… I met my new grandmother first…”

* * *

**I thought that I was going to feel out of place, but I didn’t.**

**Luckily for me, Beth pooped a few minutes before the doorbell rang, so I took advantage of taking her upstairs to change her. I laid her on my bed and wiped her from front to back and listened to her jabber at my phone, which I let her hold to keep her occupied while I changed her. The doorbell rang seconds after I strapped her clean diaper back on her, but I decided to stay where I was for a few minutes because I was nervous to go down and meet everyone.**

**I sat on my bed with Beth on my lap and listened to the laughter coming from downstairs and I got a little bit sad because I wished I were home. I wished that Judy was burning the turkey and Russel was yelling at a football game in between texts to his mistress. I wished that I wouldn’t have had to put on cute clothes and wished that I wasn’t about to be the only white girl in a room full of people who are better than everyone I grew up with. I wished I wasn’t about to feel very out of place.**

**Beth got a little restless, so I knew that it was time for me to stop hiding and time for me to start meeting people. I looked in my mirror and fixed my outfit. Beth wore a brown overall dress with a turkey in the middle of it over a plain white turtleneck. I put her white tights on her and Shelby packed brown moccasins to go with everything, plus a matching sparkly brown bow. I wanted to match her, so I put on a brown dress with white tights too, and my moccasins are the same as hers. I even tied a white bow in my hair.**

**Once I was sure that we both looked presentable, I headed for the steps and took a few deep breaths.**

**Everyone was in the dining room, crowded around the table that Mom had just set. They were still taking off their coats and giving everyone hugs and telling Mykel that he’s getting beefier. I watched from the living room unnoticed for a moment, wishing that I had that. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw my Grammy. It was probably at Frannie’s high school graduation, years ago. She never flew in for Thanksgiving and hardly ever called. My mom and her mom just weren’t all that close and I could forget about ever meeting my aunts and uncles. I wished I had a family as close as theirs.**

**“Yeah, she here.” I heard Mom talking to someone that I couldn’t see. “She upstairs changing the baby, she’ll be down. I can’t wait for y’all to meet her.”**

**“So you and Jared are adopting her or what? Or is she just saying here?” The person she was talking to replied.**

**“She staying here for a little. Hopefully forever. Her parents is crazy. They some complete psychos, I’m telling you.”**

**“Is she a good kid?”**

**“She’s the best kid, Ma. She get real shy though so if she ain’t talkin’ to you, it ain’t disrespectful. She just ain’t much of a talker ‘round new people but she a good girl. I’m telling you, I love her to death.”**

**That made me feel a little bit better when I heard Mom say that, but not good enough to leave where I was standing and go over to people.**

**“Aww, ‘Cedes! Your hair’s gettin’ so long and pretty!” A short, heavy-set woman with curly shoulder-length hair and round glasses ran her fingers through Mercedes’ hair and Mercedes smiled at her. “Look at you, my pretty thing.”**

**“Good to see you too, Aunt Reenie.” Mercedes hugged her and when she did, she looked back and saw me standing in the living room. **

**She waved her hand at me to tell me to join them, but I just shook my head slowly and I knew she understood that I was nervous. I knew she understood, because she went and tapped Mom. I held onto Beth like she was my lifeline and I felt like the whole world around me was shrinking and I was still standing as tall as can be.**

**Mom wriggled out of a hug and told the woman she was hugging that she’d be right back. The woman unbuttoned her coat and took off her hat, then started to sit down and I wondered which aunt she was. She looked like Mom and like the one Mercedes called Aunt Reenie. She had their same copper skin color and round eyes. Her lips, wide and full, were painted with smooth red lipstick and her eyeshadow matched. She seemed regal and very classy and I decided that she was someone Judy would have liked.**

**“Hey y’all,” Mom made her way over to me and Beth and put her arm around us which made me hold my breath. “Y’all, this our daughter, Quinn. This is my girl. And this is her baby, little Beth.”**

**Everyone stopped and looked at me, which made me want to run and hide. I tried to familiarize myself with everyone. There was the classy looking one with the red lipstick, the short one with the glasses, and then there were three kids. One of them was me and Mercedes’ age, and I thought she was gorgeous. She had long, straight black hair and the most flawless skin I’ve ever seen. The other one was probably a year or two younger and she wore her hair in rows of neat braids. The third one was a little boy no older than ten, and I didn’t get a good look at him because his face was buried in an iPad.**

**“Quinn, this is everyone,” Mom rubbed my shoulder like she could sense that I was nervous, then started to point. “That’s my mama, your Nana. And that’s my sister, Maureen but we call her Reenie. And them is her kids. That’s Tatiana, that’s Tiana, and that’s Torrence but we call him little TJ.”**

**I had them all straightened out as soon as she introduced them. Nana was the classy looking one, Aunt Reenie had the glasses. Tatiana was the gorgeous one, Tiana had the braids and TJ was playing with the iPad. It was simple, really.**

**I lifted my hand and said, “hi.”**

* * *

“How’d you feel when Patrice introduced you as her daughter? The way you say it, it sounds like she said it like she was proud or something. But how did it make you feel?” Bailey interrupts me to ask me.

“Um… I guess at first it made me a little sad because I did miss my mom. My other mom, Judy. I missed her and I wished it was her calling me her daughter. But then I thought about it and it made me feel really good actually. It made me feel like I was supposed to be there, kind of. It made me feel less awkward.” I explain.

“Did you feel like everybody accepted you? It’s one thing for her to just say that you’re their daughter, but did everyone make you feel like you were? Did you feel like you were treated better, worse or about the same as they treated Jared and Patrice’s natural children?”

“...About the same, I guess. Maybe even better? They kind of went out of their way to make sure I felt included and that was nice.”

“Why would you say they treated you better? What was different about the way they treated you?”

“Well at dinner…”

* * *

**I ended up sitting at the end of the table, with Mercedes on my left and Nana at the head of the table to my right. Beth stayed on my lap the entire time and kept yawning, which I figured would happen since she hadn’t taken her afternoon nap. She was quiet and content even though she was sleepy, and she spent the majority of her time just watching everyone pass the food dishes back and forth with her mouth hanging open.**

**There was mood food in the middle of the table than I have ever seen in my life, and it all smelled amazing. Steam from the multiple dishes spiraled up into the air and made the entire dining room smell like heaven. Everyone had their plates in front of them, and arms were crossing each other to scoop servings onto them. I had no idea where to start, and I was the only one at the table with a totally empty plate.**

**“Just grab something,” Mercedes mumbled to me under her breath. She knew I was nervous but she didn’t have time to cater to me, which I understood. I wanted to tell her that I didn’t know what to grab or where to start but I kept my mouth shut instead.**

**“Quinn, you gonna let the baby eat off you or you want me to grab a smaller plate for her?” Mom asked as she shook the pepper shaker over her full plate.**

**“She can eat off me.” I started off modest, only stabbing a buttered dinner roll with my fork.**

**“Tell me you’re gonna eat more than that, child.” The one we call Aunt Reenie glanced at my plate. “All this food here and you’re gonna get some bread?”**

**“I kinda… can’t like… get up or reach over.” I tried to lean forward to grab a serving spoon with Beth on my lap to let them see how it didn’t work out very well.**

**“Here, lemme take her.” Mercedes leans over and picks Beth up from my lap and to my surprise, Beth just kinda lets her. She does turn her entire body to make herself aware of where I am and make sure that I don’t leave, but she doesn’t whine or anything.**

**“Here baby, I’ll get your plate.” Mom stood up and reached across the table to grab it. “You tell me what you want.”**

**“You can give me everything.” I shrugged my shoulders and watched as she piled everything in the long line of food onto my plate.**

**“You want ham, chicken, turkey or all three?”**

**“Might as well get all three.”**

**“Gravy on the chicken and the turkey or what?”**

**“Yep. And on the mashed potatoes, too. I think Beth likes gravy. She’ll eat it. She eats anything.” Mom handed my plate back to me when she was done making it and I was able to settle in and sit back down before I took Beth back. “Come to think of it… I don’t think I’ve ever seen her turn her nose up to something.”**

**Mercedes handed her back to me and her chubby little hand immediately reached for my plate. Maybe I would have let her go for whatever it was that she wanted if everyone around the table wasn’t bowing their heads, but they were so I grabbed her hand, put it down and bowed my head too.**

**“Father God, we ask you to bless this food for the nourishment of our bodies and keep your arms around everyone in this room as we enjoy our time as a family. We ask you to extend your protection to everyone as we travel back to our destinations tonight and keep your arms around us as we return home. In Jesus name, we pray. Amen.” Nana said the prayer over the food and it made me think about my Grammy because she was the one who said the prayer over the food too.**

**When it was all said and done, everyone picked up their forks and started eating and I opted to feed Beth first since she seemed hungry. I lifted a small pile of mashed potatoes up with my fork and dipped them into the puddle of gravy stuck in the middle before I held the fork to her mouth. And it wasn’t surprising at all when she wrapped her lips around the fork and ate them.**

**“Try giving her some turkey.” Dad had a mouth full of food when he spoke but somehow it still came out clearly. “See if she likes turkey.”**

**“She eats everything, I already know she’ll like turkey.” I ripped a piece of turkey off with my fingers and held it by her mouth. She looked at it for a second, then opened her lips and took my entire thumb and index finger into her mouth. Everyone — and I do mean everyone — at the table said “aww!” at the same time and it made me smile. “See? I told you. She eats anything.”**

**“How old is she?” Nana leaned forward so she could look at her a little bit better.**

**“She’s nine months today.” I replied.**

**“Let’s see if she likes sweet potatoes…” Mercedes piled some onto my fork and held them to Beth’s mouth next. When Beth ate those, her face wrinkled a little bit as she rubbed her lips together and she looked like maybe she was unsure about them. “Oooh, I don’t know… sweet potatoes may not be a hit.”**

**“Do you not like sweet potatoes, baby? No sweet potatoes?” I wiped her mouth with my thumb then wiped it on the side of my dress. Just to test my theory, I held another forkful of sweet potatoes to her mouth and she looked at them, then turned her head. “Sweet potatoes are a no. Which is weird because she likes sweet potato baby food.”**

**“That’s exactly how Patrice was when she was a baby.” Nana chewed her food loudly, which I thought was pretty funny since she seemed like such a regal woman. “When it came time to wean her off that baby food, she didn’t want anything to do with real food. I’d give her baby food green beans, she’d tear it up. Then tried to give her regular green beans, nope.”**

**I kept feeding Beth mouthfuls of mashed potatoes since I knew those were safe and something that she liked, and I tried to stop feeling sad but I couldn’t help it. My own family would have loved to see Beth. They would have loved to pass her around and kiss her cheeks and watch her eat off my plate. She could have been around people who look like her and I couldn’t stop feeling sad for her. I thought about how she’s going to grow up in a household and around a family where nobody looks like her. I just thought that was sad.**

**“Quinn, Jared and ‘Trice told us you like to sing,” Aunt Reenie spoke from the other end of the table. “You gonna be competition for karaoke later? ‘Cause I’m telling you, we got some ** ** _singers _ ** **in this family. You can’t be no weak link.”**

**“Well you guys are probably gonna wipe the floor with me, because I’m not that great.” I laughed, but I was just being honest. If the singers in their family were anything like Mercedes and Mom, I didn’t stand a single chance.**

**“What do you think, ‘Trice? She any good or is she just being shy?” Aunt Reenie asked Mom next.**

**“I ain’t never heard the child sing. She don’t sing around us, at least. You gotta ask ‘Cedes.” Mom nodded towards Mercedes, who had a mouth full of chicken.**

**“She’s really good,” Mercedes smiled after she swallowed. “She has a nice tone and a really low register. I think it’s pretty. She’ll hold her own.”**

**“Yeah, no I won’t.” I shook my head. “I’m not a belter or anything. I don’t do anything special with my voice. I just sing and hope it sounds okay. I’m a better dancer. I swear I’m a good dancer.”**

**“She’s not lying about that!” Mercedes vouched for me. “She can bust a serious move. She’s like, one of the better dancers in Glee club.”**

**“Who are the best singers?” The older cousin — Tatiana I think her name is — spoke for the first time and I thought that her voice was as pretty as she was. “You’re one of the best singers, aren’t you, ‘Cedes?”**

**“Her and Rachel go back and forth on that.” I spoke up because I knew that Mercedes didn’t want to say anything for fear of offending me. “It’s like some days, it’s definitely Mercedes. Then other days, Rachel edges her out. So it’s really hard to say who’s the best. Personally, I think Mercedes is a ** ** _little _ ** **bit better, but you can just tell that Rachel’s trained. It’s like… Mercedes has soul. Her voice is more soulful but Rachel’s is like… it’s beautiful and it’s trained.”**

**“She’s like a robot.” Mercedes mumbled and bullied a piece of chicken across her plate and into the gravy. “She can sing anything and it sounds good.”**

**“Yeah, but so can you.” I bumped her with my elbow to let her know that she needed to pick her head up.**

**“Well we can see just how good Rachel really is later.” Mom said and everyone turned their heads and looked at her. “When we do karaoke.”**

**“Wait, you know her?” Tatiana seemed very interested suddenly.**

**“She’s Quinn’s girlfriend,” Mercedes mumbled again.**

**“Well that’s all fucked up,” Aunt Reenie said and everybody laughed.**

**Even I laughed.**

* * *

“Was it weird to hear everybody talk about Rachel?” Bailey asks as she starts to clean up the nearly-empty pie tin and the ginger ale.

“Yes and no. Yes because it still felt weird and like her and Mercedes were still in a fight. But no because I knew that they were just joking and they would never actually be mean to Rachel. I wouldn’t have let Rachel come over if I thought that they were going to be seriously mean to her. I wouldn’t invite her some place where she wasn’t going to be respected.”

“Nobody said anything when Mercedes casually mentioned she was your girlfriend?”

“No, which surprised me. Nobody said a thing. They just accepted it and moved on. It was like Mercedes said she was my boyfriend. It was such a non factor.”

“So what happened next? How did karaoke go?”

“Well, before karaoke and trivia started, something else happened…”

* * *

**Beth fell asleep shortly after dinner, which I knew she was going to. I looked at the clock a few minutes before she fell asleep and I was surprised to see that it was only 2:30 because it felt so much later than that. I was starting to get the hang of what Mercedes meant when she said that everyone eats in rounds. I thought that dinner was just one main event but when you finish eating at 2:30 and you have the rest of the evening ahead of you, it’s easy to see how you’d go back for round two.**

**Mykel left to go pick up the girl named Bianca, so Sam came first, which I thought was weird. I didn’t think it was weird that he came first or weird that he came at all, but it’s just weird seeing him here and not in Glee club. It’s weird to know that he’s Mercedes’ boyfriend and he’s in my house for that reason and I wondered if maybe that’s how Mercedes felt about Rachel.**

**I sat on the couch and rocked Beth from side to side so she could fall into a deep sleep, deep enough that I could lay her down without her waking up. I rocked Beth and Sam came into the living room with Mercedes and told me “hola”, which still made me feel weird. It felt like she was supposed to be in Glee club, not here.**

**Mykel came back next, and he had his friend with benefits with him. She was pretty, I thought. She had long brown hair and caramel skin. She was taller than him with heels on, which I thought was funny, but it’s not that hard to be taller than Mykel. He’s only about 5’10, compared to Dad’s 6’3.**

**I figured that dinner with Shelby and her dads probably ran a little long, because Rachel wasn’t there yet and Beth still was. I took it as a good sign. If it was running long, it meant that nothing bad happened and everything was okay. It meant that Rachel’s worries were for no reason.**

**I started to get up to put Beth down on the couch so she could get a good nap in without me holding her, but the doorbell rang as soon as I stood up. I knew it was either Rachel, Shelby or both of them, so I walked into the hallway and grabbed the door myself.**

**But it wasn’t Rachel or Shelby at the door. And I wished it was because dealing with either one of them would have been way easier than dealing with who it actually was.**

**“Frannie…” I felt the world stop spinning beneath my feet. It was almost like a moment in a TV show, how the camera spins around really fast and the main character backs away and holds her head? It was like that when I saw her. She stood in front of me in the expensive gray Calvin Klein coat that dad bought her last Christmas. Her hair was straight and dark brown and the same shoulder-length as mine, eyes crystalline underneath the natural sunlight. Her makeup was flawless and she looked… older.**

**“What are you doing here?” I sounded like an idiot when I asked her that but I couldn’t help it. I held Beth tighter as if she was the only thing anchoring me to the ground.**

**“I told you I was going to drop by and see you, didn’t I?” She adjusted her expensive designer purse on her shoulder and looked behind me like she was trying to see something. “Are you here alone? Where is everyone?”**

**“I’m… no,” I shook my head and tried to choke down the vomit that felt like it was rising up in the back of my throat. “Everyone’s in there, I… Frannie, you can’t be here.”**

**“Well, I didn’t want to just drop by but you wouldn’t answer any of my texts so I had to ask Mom and Dad where you were.” She looked me in my eyes and I couldn’t bear to look her in hers. “I missed you, Luce. I told you I wanted to come see you.”**

**“Well you…” I sighed and looked behind me because I wouldn’t have felt right if I just turned her away at that point. But I really didn’t think she needed to be there… “I’ll come see you later, okay? Now you have to go. Now.”**

**“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.” She tilted her head. “Are they abusing you here? What kind of people won’t let you talk to your sister?”**

**“No! Frannie, no! I just… I don’t ** ** _want _ ** **you here. You can’t be here.” I was suddenly hyper aware that I had Beth in my arms and I felt lucky that my sister wasn’t really paying attention to her. I wasn’t ready for her to meet Beth just yet. I wasn’t ready to see her. She shouldn’t have forced this. “Please just go. I’ll come by the house later, I’ll come see you later. But please don’t do this here. Please just go.”**

**“Lucy, why won’t you talk to me? What’s going on?” She put her hand on my shoulder. “Quinn?”**

**“...I don’t want to talk to you.” I whispered and in that moment, I knew that I was successful in getting her to go away. She adjusted the grip on her purse and took a step backwards, away from me.**

**But as soon as she did that, her eyes fell down to the baby in my arms and I knew that it was over…**

**“Oh my god…” She whispered and brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Her jaw started to tremble and I knew that as soon as she laid eyes on Beth, she would know who she was. It’s hard not to know. She has my exact face. “Oh my god… Can I hold her?”**

**“Frannie, I…” I turned away from her with Beth in my arms because for some reason, Frannie asking me to hold her made me feel weirdly protective. But then I looked at the tears rolling down my sister’s cheeks and I couldn’t say no. “...Come upstairs.”**

**I stepped aside and let Frannie follow me into the house, grateful that nobody could see us go up the stairs from the angle of the living room. Once me and Frannie were both inside my bedroom, I shut and locked the door and motioned for her to sit down on my messy, unmade bed.**

**“You can’t just show up like this, okay? I was gonna text you back. I was gonna text you after everything settled down here, I swear. But you cannot just show up here, I have rules. I have rules to follow and I haven’t even asked them if you could be here. I have to respect their house, do you get it? I have to. I don’t want them kicking me out, I —“**

**“I’m your ** ** _sister_ ** **, Lucy. I’m not some stranger, why would you have to ask permission to talk to me?” She crossed her legs and started taking her coat off. “I’ve been worried about you, I just came to see you. And… and meet my niece, I guess.”**

**“Her name’s Beth,” I stepped a little closer and started to shift Beth from my arms to hers. “Her adoptive mom is letting me spend Thanksgiving with her for a few hours.”**

**“She’s ** ** _beautiful…” _ ** **She stroked her finger across Beth’s cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “She looks just like mom… and me, too. Mostly like you. But I see me and mom…” She sniveled and wiped her tears with her shoulder. “She has dad’s hairline. And your little lips. Why is she so pretty?”**

**“I ask myself that all the time,” I laughed and sat down next to her. It felt surreal watching my sister hold my baby. I wished Beth was awake because I would have really liked for her to meet her aunt. “You know she’s nine months old today?”**

**“I did know, actually.” She rubbed Beth’s hands and studied the way her little fingers curled. “You know, I… I have a blog for her.”**

**“A blog…?”**

**“Yeah, I made a tumblr. I fill it with posts and pictures and letters to her. It’s mostly just stuff about you, and the kind of kid you were growing up. But letters, too. Letters about life and love and… how much we all loved her before we even knew her. I’m gonna give her the password when she turns 18.”**

**“You did that…?” I felt like I was about to burst into tears. “You did that for her?”**

**“You don’t know how bad I wanted you to keep her, Luce.” She kissed Beth’s forehead again and I put my head on her shoulder. Me Frannie had drifted apart over the last few years, but I did miss her. We were the best of friends before she moved away. “You could’ve broken the cycle with her.”**

**“I did though, Fran.” I kept my head on her shoulder, but I turned it so I could look her in the eye. “She has a really good life. Shelby’s amazing to her and she lets me be involved. The cycle’s broken. She’s not a Fabray.”**

**Frannie turned her head too and kissed my forehead like I was Beth. She rested her cheek against mine and I felt wholesome for a moment, just sitting there on my bed while my sister held my baby and me.**

**“I’m sorry I don’t come home more,” she whispered to me. “It’s just hard to come back once you get out. You’ll understand when you go to college.”**

**“How’s Mom and Dad?” I asked.**

**“They’re fine. Better, actually. Dad’s back home, but you knew that. Mom seems happier. He’s… he’s different now. He seems a lot more… mellow. They seem like they’re doing really good, actually.” She rubbed my shoulder and I picked my head up.**

**“Yeah, without me.” I sighed and laid down flat on my bed. “Who would’ve guessed that I was the problem? Funny how it took me leaving for them to get better, isn't it? Now I couldn’t go home even if I wanted to.”**

**“That’s what I came to talk to you about, actually.” She held Beth in her arms very securely and turned to face me. “I was wondering if you wanted to come stay with me.”**

**“In Massachusetts?” I didn’t think she was serious at first.**

**“Yeah. I’m graduating next semester and me and Kevin are getting our own house. There will be all the room in the world for you and I’ll take care of you. You could go to Harvard, too. Or some other college if you didn’t want to go Ivy League, there’s a ton of good colleges in the state.”**

**“And leave my friends?”**

**“You’ll make new friends, Luce. You will. You’re smart and you’re pretty and everyone will be your friend.”**

**“I’m not leaving here…”**

**“Lucy, seriously. Stop being dramatic and think about it. You don’t need to live here. I’m glad they’re nice to you and it seems like they’re really great people, I’m sure. But you don’t need to live here. It’s not… it’s not right. If Mom and Dad won’t have you back, then it’s only right for you to come live with me. I’m your sister. I’m your family. I’ll take care of you. That’s the way it should be, it’s more… natural this way.”**

**“More natural than what…?” I sat up and looked her right in the eye. “More natural than what, Fran? More natural than me living here? With a black family?”**

**“That’s not what I meant and you know it’s not.”**

**“Then what did you mean?”**

**“I just meant that… that these people… they don’t know how to take care of you. You’re not meant to be here, I mean look at it. It’s… it’s not where you’re from. It’s not how you’re meant to live. You’re a Fabray and we come from certain standards and they’re not capable of —“**

**“Because they’re black.” I mumbled.**

**“Don’t be like that. I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just being honest. You should come stay with me. It’s better that way.”**

**“You don’t mean to be rude, but you are. And it’s rude of you to assume that they don’t have money and can’t take care of me. You know Fran, they are more my parents than Mom and Dad ever were. I have everything I need here. And I know how you meant it. You meant that I’m not supposed to live with black people, but —“**

**“I didn’t mean that.”**

**“You did. And that’s okay. It’s okay because Mom and Dad have you SO wired…” I shook my head. “But I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving and I’m not coming to stay with you. I’m… I’m happy here, Fran. I’m real happy. I have a family who loves me, I get to see my daughter… I have a ** ** _girlfriend. _ ** **She’s kind and she’s smart and her name is Rachel. And she’s mine.”**

**“Oh god,” she covered her face with her hands. “Mom and Dad said you were going through this phase… I didn’t want to believe it.”**

**“It’s not a phase! It’s who I am!”**

**“Whatever it is, you can’t blame Mom and Dad! Quinn… you’re the one who changed. It was you. You spent your entire life — sixteen years — being one way. You were straight and you had boyfriends and you had a BABY… then you just changed. And it’s not natural, it’s… everything we were taught about heaven and hell and the Bible… are you really gonna just throw it away? For… for what? A girl?”**

**“You don’t understand! It’s always been inside of me! I didn’t just wake up and choose! Frannie, I was raped! Raped!”**

**“I know and… and look, I’m happy that you’re happy. Really, I am. I’m so happy that you’re happy, Little Luce. But I can’t… I can’t support that. Not when you were raised the other way.”**

**“You don’t have to support it. You don’t have to. But this is who I am. I’m… I’m gay, Frannie. It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.”**

**“And I’m happy that you know who you are. I’m happy for you. But I just can’t support it. I can’t, Lucy. I can’t understand it. I love you. I love you so much. But I can’t love that. Not whenever I know you weren’t raised like that.”**

**Truth be told, I stopped listening after she said that. And the next thing I remember is her handing Beth back to me, kissing my cheek, and me opening the door.**

**And when I shut the door behind her, it felt like a chapter of my life was closed.**


	58. I Forgive You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I've been updating like crazy (like multiple times within 24 hours) and it can be a little hard to keep up with. I'm sorry to be so manic and overloading you guys, but I'm just eager to get to a certain part. The climax of the story is coming (in chapter 62, to be precise) and it's HUGE and I'm just so excited to write it and get it to you guys, so that's the reason for a million updates in such little time. I hope I'm not overwhelming you :)

* * *

* * *

_November 30 _

_ Before I left the treatment center in Pennsylvania, the last thing Jessica said to me was that therapy was only going to work for me if I made it work for me. _

_ I’ve been going back and forth since I left Pennsylvania, trying to figure out exactly what she meant when she said that and I think I finally figured it out after leaving my session with Bailey yesterday. _

_ I think Jessica meant that therapy is only going to help me get better if I actively participate in it and take the advice that I’m given seriously. And with that little tidbit of knowledge, last night, I took it upon myself to try the thing that Bailey suggested yesterday. _

_ I felt really weird about it and had so much secondhand embarrassment and shame for doing it that I just couldn’t get out of my head. I was in the shower and while I was washing myself up, I tried to touch my body like she said I should. I used my washcloth to rub soap all over myself as usual, but it did it more slowly than I usually do. I didn’t feel like it was working and it was making me take too long in the shower, so I just stopped and rinsed myself off and got out. _

_ I tried it again at bedtime because I thought that having the lights out and being alone in my room while everyone else was supposed to be sleeping too would help. I started at my arms just like she said I should and I worked my way to my shoulders. But when it was time for me to touch my boobs, I got a little weirded out and had to stop. I know I failed at actually doing it and trying to train my body to not freak out when Rachel touches me, but I actually tried and I think that should count for something. _

_ I _

Just as I really get into the groove of writing and my thoughts are seamlessly flowing from pencil to notebook paper, someone knocks on my door and I usually don’t mind being interrupted when I’m writing in my journal, but it really annoys me today for some reason.

Since I’m writing on my bed instead of my desk, I hurry up and slide my notebook under my pillow to hide it and use my phone as a decoy to act like I was lying on my stomach and scrolling through it this entire time.

“Come in!” I even kick my legs up and cross them at the ankles to seem more natural. _ I mean, this is the epitome of every teenage girl, isn't it? Lying on their bed with their feet up in the air? I look natural, don’t I? I don’t look like I was just journaling, do I? _

My doorknob turns and the door swings open, and I’m a little less annoyed to see that it’s Mom and not Mercedes or Mykel interrupting me. She’s probably just coming up to tell me that dinner’s ready. We’ve been eating leftovers since yesterday and I don’t really mind because all the food was delicious. Mom’s been heating the food up on the stove instead of the microwave and I’m learning a few new things about food from her. For example, I didn’t know that adding milk to macaroni and cheese when it’s dried out will make it as creamy as it is when it first comes out of the oven. It’s really the little things that Mom teaches me that make me appreciate her so much more.

“Whatcha doing, sweet pea?” She stays by the door instead of coming inside, which is how I know she’s not here for something important.

“Nothing,” I shake my head. “I was thinking about taking a nap or something.”

“You tired?” She actually does come into my room as she asks me if I’m tired, which worries me a little bit because she’d only come in if something was wrong. She sits down on my bed and cradles my face in her hand. “You been sleepin’ okay? You need me to get you something from the store to help you rest?”

“No, I’m okay. I’m just tired today for some reason.” Since she’s sitting here beside me on my bed, I take the opportunity to lay my head down on her knee. 

If I talked to Bailey about me laying on her leg, she’d say something about how I was never allowed to lay on my own mom growing up so I’m compensating for the lack of emotional attachment now. I know I’m seventeen, but sometimes I just want to lay on my mom’s leg and let her baby me. It’s no big deal. There is no deeper meaning. It just feels really good when she rubs her thumb across my cheek and then strokes the tips of her fingers from my forehead down to my nose like she’s doing right now.

“You know I still do this when ‘Cedes is having trouble going to bed?” Her fingertips are so light and delicate with every stroke she makes from the top of my forehead to the tip of my nose. I’m about to fall asleep right now. “I used to do this to her and ‘Kel when they was little. Put them right to sleep. ‘Cedes still asks me to do it sometimes.”

“I can see why…” I say, but my voice is kind of slurred and dazed. My eyes are getting heavier and heavier and I wasn’t even really sleepy until she started doing this, I was just trying to distract from the fact that I was journaling by saying I wanted to take a nap. Now I really do want to take a nap… “Don’t… stop…”

“How ‘bout I do it later while we watching the movie?” She stops stroking my face, but starts stroking my shoulder next. “You might not wanna go to sleep just yet. I came up here to tell you that you got a visitor.”

“I have a visitor?” I slowly pick my head up off her leg and sit up, yawning. “Who is it? Is it Rachel?”

“It’s your sister, baby.” She smooths my hair back and away from my face. “I can send her away if you want me to. I’ll tell her you’re sleepin’. But she say she really wanna talk to you and I think maybe you should hear her out.”

“Frannie’s here?”

“Mhm, right downstairs. I’ll send her up if you want me to, but I’ll send her away if that’s what you want too.”

“What does she want? Did she say what she wants?”

“Just that she wants to talk to you.”

_ We ended things on a bad note and I thought that would be the end of everything. She walked out of here after insulting me and my relationship with Rachel and I felt like she was a part of my past that I didn’t need anymore. I was sad when she left, but I also felt a sense of closure. I felt like me closing the door on my relationship with my sister was fitting, because nobody else in my family wanted to be bothered with me anymore and cutting ties completely would make it hurt a lot less. In a way, I was relieved when my sister turned out to be nothing more than my mom and dad’s protege because at least then, there was nothing keeping me tethered to the Fabrays. _

_ She’s back now and I don’t know if I want to speak to her. I don’t know if I want to hear her insult me and my sexuality and my preferences and my lifestyle and the family I was so lucky to stumble into. I don’t know if I have it in me to defend myself to her anymore. _

_ But on the very likely chance that this may be my last time ever talking to my sister face-to-face… I think maybe I want this opportunity. _

“I’ll come down, don’t send her up.” I climb off of my bed and slide my feet into the blue fuzzy slippers that Dad bought me to replace the ones that Bobby chewed up last week.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Mom stands up and follows me behind me like she has my back, literally.

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’s just Frannie, I can… I can handle her.”

_ I can handle Frannie. She’s the same girl who used to stand in front of me when Dad would yell about getting chalk all over the mailbox. The same one who took all the blame whenever I burned a hole in the microwave and almost set the house on fire by putting a spoon inside. She’s the one who secretly brought me the third cookie after Dad commented how I shouldn’t eat anything else, and the one who was going to take a red-eye home from Massachusetts when I texted her that I thought I was losing the baby when it was really just Braxton Hicks. She’s my sister. And maybe she doesn’t love me anymore because I’m gay, but she’s stilly my sister and she was still my first best friend and I can still handle her. _

_ I can handle Frannie. _

* * *

“It’s actually a really nice house.” Frannie says as she looks around the kitchen, but I know her well enough to know the look on her face when she’s being judgmental. And she’s being judgmental right now. “It’s clean and it’s… homey.”

“Yeah, I really do love it here.” The tone of my voice is sharp and very frank, because I want her to cut to the chase. I want to know why she’s here and why she came back after she hurled insult after insult at me. And I want to know why she’s looking around and judging my house just because we don’t have crown molding in the kitchen and an island made of granite countertops.

Maybe I could make this less awkward if I would sit down at the table with her instead of leaning against the corner of the counter, but I don’t really want to be close to her. I don’t want her to be able to see my tears if she says something that makes me start to cry.

I get it. When you come from the Fabray house and step into the Jones house, it does seem like an immense downgrade. There aren’t anymore high ceilings with crystal chandeliers and there aren’t any updated kitchen appliances. The couches are worn down and sinking because they’ve been sat on, and there isn’t plastic covering the furniture. The carpets aren’t Persian and plush and the 70-inch TV is on a grand entertainment stand instead of being mounted to the wall above the fireplace. The walls aren’t ivory white, each room is a different color. There are tick marks on the archways from babies growing to toddlers to kids, and tattered up chew toys are scattered everywhere from the dogs.

But what you don’t see is the way these walls are filled with love.

There are pictures of actual people lining the walls, not pictures of landscapes, flowers and baskets of fruit. It’s okay to sit on the couches in the living room because there isn’t a specific living room used for guests and one used for actually living. It’s okay to spill things and have accidents on this carpet. The stove is old and weathered because in this house, there is a mom who uses it every single day to make meals that don’t come from boxes. The paint isn’t fresh here because it doesn’t have to be. The paint isn’t hiding the way the dad chipped the wall by throwing a plate at his wife, and there’s no secret liquor cabinet that the mom doesn’t want the kids to know about. The kitchen floor has scuff marks on it because the chairs at the table are pushed out every single night when the family has dinner _ together. _So you see, when you come from the Fabray house, it sure seems like the Jones house is a huge downgrade. But then you learn to look at all the things that matter and you realize that this place is a home and probably the safest place in the world. It’s my own little corner of the universe and the only place I ever think of as “home.”

Frannie looks at the fridge and her eyebrows raise when she notices my report card hanging proudly right next to Mercedes’. She looks around and stares at the many pots of warmed-up Thanksgiving food on the stove and countertops. Then she picks up her glass of water and takes a sip.

“Why’d you come back?” I ask, but I’m not sure I really want to know the answer. She takes another sip of her water and doesn’t say anything, which really makes me mad. “I told you that you can’t just pop up like this! I told you, this is my _ house, _Frannie. This is where I live, but I have rules. I have rules and expectations and I can’t just have you popping up anytime you please like you’re some kind of herpe! What, did you think you didn’t insult me enough? Did you come back just to tell me how much more you disapprove?”

She still says nothing and I know that I have to calm down and calm down quick. Mom and Dad went upstairs so we could talk in private, but Mom said the second she hears yelling or crying or voices being raised, she’s coming down here to rescue me because she’s “sick of them Fabrays thinking they can come up in here yelling at me.” I promised her that me and Frannie weren’t going to yell. I promised her that my sister is generally nonviolent and she is. Frannie used to cry if she accidentally stepped on a bug.

“Why did you come back? Answer me, Fran. Why?”

“Because, Lucy, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if I got on the road tomorrow and left things all screwed up with you. That’s why.” Her words come out of her mouth like fire she’s trying to burn me with. She’s not yelling, but she’s damn close to it. “Like it or not, I love you and I care about you and I care about having a relationship with you. God, I forgot how freaking stubborn you are. I forgot how annoying it is.”

“Why do you care now? Now that I’m not even living with mom and dad?”

“I always cared, Quinn. Stop trying to be the victim here. Not everything is about you and I have a life outside of you. If you want to be mad at me for getting the hell out of Lima and making something better of myself, then fine. But don’t sit here and chastise me because I don’t come home and I never call. Don’t make me out to be the villain when the phone works both ways and you never tell me when you’re struggling.” She pushes her glass of water away from her and rolls her eyes. “Get out of my first class for the day and head to the cafeteria with my friends only to open my phone and see my mother called to tell me my sister is being discharged from the mental hospital this week. How do you think that made me feel? I didn’t even know you were struggling, didn’t even know you were raped, didn’t even know you tried to kill yourself! You tried to KILL yourself, Lucy!”

“You know how fucked up things are in that house! You know how mom and dad can be! And you LEFT me! You left me there, Frannie!”

“What did you want me to do, stay in Lima until you graduated?! Did you want me to put my life on hold so you could finally get out from underneath Russel and Judy Fabray?! What did you expect from me?! What did you want?!”

“Not for you to leave the state!” I say that and the tears come tumbling down. _ I haven’t talked about how I felt about Frannie leaving me, ever. Not with any therapist, not even with myself. It was something I tried so hard to just bury and act like it didn’t bother me because I understood why she wanted to get out of here and out of that house, but it hurt. She was my best friend and my saving grace on so many occasions and she just left… _“You went to college and that was it. You started a whole life without me. Didn’t come home on the breaks, didn’t come home on the summers, didn’t call like you said you would… you left me, Fran. You left me. And things got SO bad after you did.”

“Luce… sit down…” She holds her hand out to the chair beside her.

“No.”

“I’m serious Lucy, sit down.”

“My name is Quinn! Stop calling me Lucy!” I stomp my foot like I’m a toddler and I can’t help it because that’s how I feel right now. I do feel like a toddler that can’t regulate my own emotions. “My name isn’t Lucy. My name is Quinn… stop calling me Lucy.”

“Okay, fine. Quinn, sit down.” She rubs her fingers through her shiny, dyed brown hair and takes a breath. “Please. Just sit down.”

“I don’t wanna sit by you.”

“Fine, then don’t sit down. Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me. “I’m sorry I left you, okay? I’m sorry. I just got out of Lima and got my first taste of freedom and… and I just never wanted to come back. I didn’t want to come back, ever. And I know I left you and I know it must have been hard for you, and I’m sorry. Alright? I am sorry. Genuinely, truly, from the bottom of my heart, sorry. I never meant to hurt you. You’re my baby sister and I love you. I thought you would be okay without me. I thought you were strong enough. You’ve always, always been stronger than me and I thought you’d be okay.”

“Why didn’t you at least come home for the summer?” I sniff and don’t bother wiping my tears because more just keep coming anyway. “You could have at least come home for the summer… I needed you. I gave Beth up and Puck raped me and I needed you. I needed you _ so _bad…”

“I know you did, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Q. Please, just forgive me. I know I never come home and I know I never come see you, but just drop it and forgive me. Please. If you understood even a fraction of what happened —“

“Then what happened?! You always say I don’t understand this and I don’t understand that, and I don’t know what I’m talking about, then let me know! Make me understand! Because I’d really love to stop hating you for abandoning me, but I can’t do that if you have secrets that you won’t tell me. It’s me, Fran. It’s _ me. _Just tell me.”

“I can’t tell you, you don’t get it! Just trust me on this, Quinn? Trust me. Trust that for whatever reason I stayed away… for whatever reason I didn’t want to come home… it was a good one. A damn good one. Just trust me.”

“I don’t, though.” I fold my arms across my chest and look at her with anger and deep sadness both mixed in my expression. “I don’t trust you. Not anymore. Not after the way you just up and left like I didn’t —“

“He touched me, okay?” She looks at me for a split second, then looks away like it’s too painful to look me in the eye or something. _ What…? _“Every fricking night, every fricking time we went to the beach. God, I fucking hated going to Myrtle Beach.” Her voice is soft, a tone just above a slight whisper.

“...Fran…?” My stomach makes a really loud noise and I feel nauseous all of a sudden. _ Who is she talking about…? She can’t possibly be talking about… _“Francesca, what are you saying?”

“Why do you think Dad used to push to put me to bed at night and used to make Mom put you? I was his favorite and you knew it. You knew it all along. You’re not that fucking stupid, Quinn. Don’t act like it. It doesn’t look good on you.” She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “I told Mom. After he did it one night, it hurt to go to the bathroom and I just… told Mom. I said ‘daddy scratched me’ and she just… lost it. You remember that night she woke us up out of our sleep and told us to —“

“Get our coats on because we’re going to Grammy’s house for a little… I remember that.” I nod my head because the memory is _ so _clear.

“Yeah, well.” She shrugs and uses her fingernail to scrape away a tear that just snuck out of her right eye. “She was back with him by the end of the week. She took me to get _ ice cream _and made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone or else daddy would get into a lot of trouble. She promised me that he would stop.”

“...Did he?”

“What do you think?” She licks her lips and looks down at the ground. “So… yeah. The first chance I got to get the hell out of that house and the hell out of Lima, I took it. I took it and I’m so sorry I left you, Quinn. I really am. But I _ had _to go. And if you could just find it within that stubborn little heart of yours to just forgive me for that? I’d appreciate it a lot.”

Finally, I drag my feet over to the table and sit down in the seat right next to her. I’m finding it a little hard to be mad at her for all the things she said on Thanksgiving, but this doesn’t change what she said. Still, I feel for my sister in this moment. So I do what any sister would do, and I hold her hand. _ I didn’t know. And I feel so bad but I really didn’t know. I guess if I look back, the signs are sort of there. Mom always put me to bed while Dad put Frannie to bed. Mom used to help me into my pajamas while Dad helped Frannie. Dad used to take Frannie on “special walks” every time we went to the beach and I would get so mad because she’d come back with ice cream. He always used to put Frannie on his shoulders and carry me on his back when I begged for it to be the other way around. He really did always favor Frannie but I used to think it was because she was good and I was ornery. _

“I’m so sorry I didn’t know…” I whisper to her. “I didn’t know, Fran. I didn’t know.”

“I’m over it.” She pulls her hand out from underneath mine and shrugs her shoulders again. “I put it behind me. We’re Fabrays, that’s what we do. We suck it up, we bury it and we don’t let it bother us. We keep our heads up. We don’t talk about it, we act like it doesn’t exist. It’s what we do.”

“But that’s not healthy. It might be the way we were raised but that’s not what you should do. You should get help and talk to someone and —“

“And what? Get Dad locked up forever? Leave Mom alone so she can go off the rails? She’d really be begging for you back. You know Mom can’t be alone, she’d literally —“

“He molested you… he molested you and you’re still… civil with him, you still talk to him, you still see him. And Mom just let that go. She turned the other cheek like it wasn’t happening and you’re just… okay? With that?”

“Of course I’m not okay with it, but what can you do? I can’t make it un-happen. All I can do is move forward and he’s still our Dad. I can’t change that. I can hate him forever but he’s still our Dad. Mom’s gonna choose him. No matter what. You know that. Tell me you don’t know that.”

“I’ve seen it firsthand,” I mumble.

“Exactly. So look, Q. Look. I am beyond happy that you got out of there. I grew up a Fabray, I know that there is anywhere in the world better than that house and any family in the world better than that family. I know all of that. I went back to the hotel last night and I did some really deep thinking about what I said to you on Thanksgiving.”

“And…?”

“And I’m sorry for saying it. I’m sorry for how it came across. I judged this place before I really got to know it and I judged this family without getting to know them, too. I just meant that… I think you deserve the world. I think you deserve something easy and something effortless and a place where you can just… be a kid, Quinn. Be a kid. You deserve that. And I guess…” She sighs. “I drove here. Instead of taking a flight, I put some gas in Kevin’s SUV and I drove here from Cambridge because I thought the long drive would give me some time to try and come up with a solution for you. I’ve been feeling _ so _ guilty about leaving you in that house and not _ being _ there for you when you tried to commit suicide, and I just… I felt like I had to fix it. I felt like you fell apart and it was my fault so I had to fix it. And in my mind, you were living in a dump. You ran away from home and you were living in a dump with people who had no money and no means to give you what you deserve. I got _ so attached _to the idea of you coming back to Massachusetts with me that when I saw this place and saw how happy you looked and how happy you were with Beth, I… I got mad. Mad that you did it without me and found a place that I wanted so desperately when I was in your shoes. I got mad and I said some things I didn’t mean.”

“I’m not mad at you for that…” I admit with a whisper. “You were judging. You saw the house and saw that it was nothing like ours and you knew they were black and you started judging. Your mind went crazy and you started judging.”

“It’s not because they’re black, Quinn. It’s —“

“Yes it is. Yes it is, and that’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay. But it’s understandable. Mom and Dad had us so programmed to think like them that it’s hard to undo it. I worked really, really hard to undo it when they took me in for the first time. It took a lot — I mean _ a lot _— of work for me to undo all the things that Mom and Dad taught us to hate. And you may not think they did. They never expressly told us that we’re better than them and that we deserve more than them or anything, but think about it. Think about all those times at the store where Dad refused to put the change in their outstretched hands. Or all the times Mom refused to let us sleep over their houses. Think about how Dad automatically assumed that they were drug dealers or crooks or all the times Mom locked the doors when we were driving through Lima Heights. …It’s in us, Fran. It’s deep, deep in us. It’s not okay, it’s something you are going to have to unlearn if you want to be in my life because this is my FAMILY. And this is how we break the cycle. This is how we become better than the Fabrays.”

“You’re right,” she mutters under her breath. “I mean certainly I don’t want to admit that I’m… _ accidentally _racist, but. You know.” She bites her lip and pauses for a second. “...I hate it when you’re right.”

“I’m always right, Fran. You should be used to it by now.” I wink at her and she laughs. _ We’re making good progress here… but there’s just one more thing I need to address… _“I forgive you for what you said about me being gay, too.”

“Quinn, wait —“

“No, it’s okay. I mean, I thought about what you said too and… and while I want to hate you for making me feel so shitty about it, I realize that you’re right too. I did change.”

“Don’t apologize to me, don’t —“

“But you’re right. I spent sixteen years of my life being one way. Sixteen years pretending to like boys, sixteen years pretending like I wanted to get married like Mom and Dad and have a big family, sixteen years pretending like I’m straight. For sixteen years, I was straight in your eyes. Mom and Dad’s too. I was a good Christian, a good girl, celibacy club, heterosexual, picture perfect high school girl. And then I changed. One day, I’m coming to you saying that I’m gay. Telling you that it was all just an act and I’ve been gay all along. I understand how hard that must have been for you to accept. You thought you knew me and then I threw a curveball and said that you don’t. And while it doesn’t excuse everything you said to me about going to hell, I want you to know that I get it. You’re allowed to react the way you need to react to process it. But don’t invalidate me. It’s what I am. It’s not a phase. Sorry I threw a curveball at you and expected you to handle it with complete grace. But I’m gay. And I really hope you can accept it.”

“I mean it _ was _ shocking. And you’re totally right, I _ was _thinking that I knew you better than that. I was thing that I would have known if you were gay, that wasn’t something you could squeeze past me. But I was wrong for that. You surprised me and again, I got mad because there was something about you that I didn’t know. I got mad and I said things I didn’t mean. I know it’s not a phase. I know it’s who you are and I meant it when I said that I’m happy for you. I’m happy that you don’t have to hide anymore. And it might take me a while, okay? It might take me a while to wrap my head around it because you know, the Bible and everything, but just give me a minute. Give me a minute and I swear I’ll get it together.

“You promise?”

“I promise, Little Luce. I’ll get it together. I don’t care if you’re gay. All I care about is that you’re happy and you do seem happy. You do. You’re absolutely glowing. I’m sorry for everything that I said Thursday and I’m sorry for saying that I wouldn’t support it because I do. I was just… trying to get my little Lucy back, I think. You’re growing up on me and getting mature and I don’t like it. I want you to need me again. You have a baby and you found a _ really _great home and great people and you have a girlfriend. You dropped that bomb on me and I just felt like… like if I could tell you that I don’t support it and have you decide to drop it? Then that’s a part of my baby sister that I got back.”

“I’ll always be your baby sister, Fran.” I lay my head on her shoulder like I did upstairs when she was holding Beth. “Always.”

“You’re just my baby sister who eats pussy now, no big deal.”

Even with my head still on her shoulder, I start to laugh so hard that my stomach burns and it’s the kind of laugh where nothing comes out. Everything is silent because all of your breath is dedicated to that one laugh and nothing else in the world seems to matter in that moment. Your stomach hurts and your chest is sore and it’s for all the right reasons. I love that.

“...So tell me about Rachel.” She says after we’re both done laughing. “What’s she like? You got a picture? Is she pretty?”

“Oh my god, she’s gorgeous!” I grab my phone from my sweatpants pocket and quick go to Rachel’s Instagram. “She is SO beautiful, Frannie. Just look at her…”

Frannie grabs my phone and starts scrolling through Rachel’s Instagram feed and there’s nothing in this world quite like this.

I never thought I’d see the day where I could fish over my girlfriend in the presence of my sister...

* * *

_ December 2 _

_ Thanksgiving break was everything I needed it to be and more. _

_ It’s crazy how so much can happen in a matter of a few days. In a matter of a few days, I grew closer than ever with my therapist, fell in love even more with my girlfriend, bonded with my daughter on a different level, felt more apart of a family than I’ve ever felt in my life, and found another best friend in my sister. _

_ I feel like my life is looking up and it’s a scary feeling because the only place to go is down. _

_ Even thought me and my sister fought like crazy on Thanksgiving day, I look back at it and think of it as the last time I was truly happy. I think back to being in the living room and playing trivia with my family. Beth was trying to stay awake in my arms and Mercedes was smacking her brother upside the head for getting a question wrong and letting my team take the lead. Rachel was excited to buzz in because she knew that Hippolyta was the daughter of Ares and nobody else did. I think of how the little cousin TJ won it all for Mercedes’ team when they were down by a point and he answered “six” when the speaker asked how many championships Michael Jordan won. Rachel was pissed when we lost and only calmed down when I held her hand and nobody looked at us funny. _

_ I think back to standing in front of everybody nervous as hell when the music for my first karaoke round started, then how I got more comfortable towards the end when everyone was clapping in tune to my music and cheering me on. I think about how it felt to stand in front of everyone as the worst singer in the room, but feel like everyone loved me and liked my version of Rascal Flatts’ “Stand.” _

_ We let Nana, Mom, Dad, Aunt Reenie and Mykel’s girlfriend be the judge because they didn’t want to sing. I sang Stand by Rascal Flatts because I really like the whole “when push comes to shove, you taste what you’re made of. You might bend ‘til you break ‘cause it’s all you can take. On your knees you look up, decide you’ve had enough. You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off, then you stand.” I felt like it was the most fitting song for me and my voice didn’t sound like garbage. _

_ Tatiana sang a really pretty rendition of Rihanna’s “California King Bed” that really won everyone over and kind of made me mad because everyone in Mercedes’ family can sing. Tiana sang “Breathe Me” by Sia, which was pretty but kind of depressed everyone. TJ made everyone laugh when he sang “Old Town Road.” But the real stiff competition came from Sam, Mercedes and Rachel. Sam wasn’t that good, I think he just kind of captured everyone with the way he sang to Mercedes. He did a really cute version of “Never Be The Same” by Camila Cabello and he sang to Mercedes the whole time and it was just really cute, which made everyone think they were cute. Then Mercedes sang some song I’d never heard of and I just had to download it after I heard her sing it because she sang it so well. It was called “I’m Goin’ Down” by Mary J. Blige and she blew everyone away. I mean, everyone. But then Rachel went last and she did her thing with “Wind Beneath My Wings.” _

_ Me, Rachel, Mercedes, Sam and Tatiana made it through to the second round. Me and Tatiana were knocked out after that. Then Mercedes, Rachel and Sam battled for the top. Sam won because he sang Taylor Swift’s “Lover” and I admit… he deserved that win. It was really cute again. What can I say? He knows how to appeal to the crowd. _

_ My relationship with my sister feels a lot different nowadays. We’re texting a whole lot more and just checking in with each other now just because we can. I feel bad knowing that she’s been walking around with such a dark secret inside of her and I hope that someday she talks to someone and let’s it all out. _

_ Me and Mom went to go get the rest of my stuff from my old house on Sunday. I was nervous, but I went with her because I felt like it was a part that was important so I could close the door on that chapter of my life. We walked up to the front door and I wanted to throw up. She knocked and I stood behind her. She knocked and knocked and knocked and rang the doorbell and knocked again. Nobody answered. _

_ In a way, I was a little bit relieved that nobody answered because that meant I didn’t have to face them. We knew they were home because both their cars were in the driveway, but we got no answer and that was okay with me. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle seeing them after so long anyway. _

_ Eventually me and Mom went home. We went home and grabbed Mercedes, Dad and Mykel and went out to dinner because Mykel was leaving in a couple hours. _

_ Mom told me that we’ll just buy another one of whatever I left in that house and she promised me that everything was going to be alright. _

_ I kind of believe her. I do think that everything is going to be alright. _

* * *

_ December 4 _

_ I think Mercedes is happy to have her solo back, but I haven’t told her that she got it back because Rachel told Mr. Schue to take it away from her. _

_ I don’t think she needs to know that. I think she just needs to enjoy the fact that she got the solo back. _

_ Regionals are right around the corner and so is Rachel’s birthday and so is winter formal. I’ve been thinking and I think I’ve got a way to ask her to winter formal. I came up with it a couple hours ago after we (tried to, on my part) had sex. _

_ We went to the mall today after Glee club because Mr. Schue trusted us to get materials for sectionals costumes and after we finished, we got in the car and the parking lot was dark and nearly empty, so we just climbed into the backseat and let desire take over. I got weird again when she tried to touch me, but she didn’t get mad. She understood and didn’t push it, but I got mad at myself for not being able to let it happen. Tonight before I go to bed, I’m going to try to touch myself like Bailey said I should because I’m getting really sick and tired of not being able to fully enjoy sex with Rachel. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that I have the perfect winter formal-posal. _

_ We were sweaty and kissing, even despite the fact that I still had her all over my mouth. She pulled away to breathe and looked at me with a certain sparkle in her eye and smiled. She told me that she felt like I saw her for who she really is and I told her that who she is is the brightest star in my galaxy. Which gave me an idea… _

_ My winter formal-posal is going to be epic. _


	59. For The First Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very explicit language in this chapter, so reader direction advised.

* * *

* * *

“Get down!” I grab Rachel by the hood of her jacket and pull her so hard that she falls down between the crack of the seat with me. I didn’t mean to pull her that hard, but she was about to get her head knocked off and I don’t regret doing it. Especially as Kurt’s brown shaggy pillow flies past us as soon as she’s out of the way. _ That was a close one! _

“Ow!” She screams as her elbow hits the floor and I think she’s just being dramatic. I pulled her hard, but it wasn’t hard enough to actually hurt her I don’t think. It probably just scared her more than anything. “I told you to stop pulling me like that!”

“Well it’s either me pull you or you get hit so hard that your head spins around. Take your pick.” Even though we need to get up and grab the pillows in the seat ahead of us so we can defend ourselves, I take a small moment to caress her elbow since she’s nursing it a little bit. “I’m sorry, I’ll rub it later. Stay stay down, okay?”

She keeps herself tucked between the seat, folded up into a pretzel while I slowly stand up and check out the battlefield. Santana’s about to crush Blaine in the back of the neck, Mercedes is protecting Sam with Sugar’s body pillow, and nobody’s paying attention to me._ Good. This is my chance. _While nobody’s paying attention to me, I stand on me and Rachel’s seat so I can reach into the seat ahead of us and grab Brittany’s unicorn pillow and a plain blue pillow that I think belongs to either Finn or Rory.

“Here,” I whisper and drop the unicorn pillow down to Rachel since it has more padding.

But as soon as I drop it down to her and my eyes are off the battlefield for ONE MEASLY SECOND, Santana’s yellow and gray striped pillow comes barreling at me out of nowhere and whacks me in my cheek so hard that my hair goes flying.

“HEY!” I flip my hair out of my face and look around to see who could have possibly hit me.

“QUINN’S OUT!” Mercedes yells to the entire bus, celebrating the fact that she hit me. _ Wow. My own sister. Isn’t there some kind of moral code here?! I could’ve gotten her out ROUNDS ago! _

“I’LL GET YOU BACK, YOU BITCH!” I yell back at her but start laughing before I can even really get the last syllable comes out. 

Since I’m out of the game indefinitely, I plop back down into me and Rachel’s seat and keep my legs propped up so I don’t step on her. She’s not all that great at playing dodgeball and even though we’re playing with pillows, she’s very concerned about getting hurt. Her strategy has mostly been to stay on the floor where nobody can see her, but occasionally someone comes back here and stands over her and beams a pillow at her to get her out because she’s always the last one on our team still in the game.

So far, Mercedes, Sam, Finn and Lauren are still in from Puck’s team. From Mike’s team, only Blaine, Rachel, Tina, Santana and Rory are still in. It’s a close round. Obviously I want our team to win but at this point, I don’t care who wins. I just want everyone to get out so we can start another round.

While I’m sure this isn’t the safest thing a bunch of sixteen and seventeen year old kids can do, it sure is a hell of a lot of fun.

Regionals starts early in the morning. We’re the second act and we go on at approximately 9:00, but we have to check in at 7:45. Since the competition is only four hours away, (five if you include the stops for peeing and gas) Mr. Schue had the bright idea for us to travel really early late at night instead of really early in the morning but it ended up being really early in the morning anyway. His logic was that we would sleep on the bus, get there early, and use the extra time to practice. I don’t know how much sleeping he thought sixteen and seventeen year old high school students were going to be doing on a bus, but we’re not sleeping at all. It’s almost one in the morning, the entire bus is pitch black except for the light above the driver, we are nowhere near Pittsburgh because the driver made a wrong turn a few exits back, and we are playing dodgeball with our pillows.

I know that we’re only kids and we’re acting the way kids should act, but if I were a stranger on the outside looking in, I would think that someone gave us drugs. Blaine’s standing on the seat taunting someone, Sam’s screaming that they’ll “never take him alive!” and we’re all wide awake, laughing loud as hell. I think Mr. Schue is starting to accept the fact that he has no control over us, because he hasn’t said a single word.

Beneath the seat, Rachel slowly rises from the floor and peers over the corner just enough to see what’s going on. I guess she feels confident enough to take a throw at someone, because she stands completely up and rolls Brittany’s pillow up as best as she can.

“You go, babe,” I swat her on the butt for a little bit of moral support, but she ignores me and tiptoes a couple rows up so she can get a closer target. I think she’s going for Lauren… it looks like she’s going for Lauren…she’s close enough to hit her… throw it… throw it, babe… throw it…

“BERRY’S OUTTA HIDING!” Sam alerts his entire team and suddenly everyone’s sights are set on Rachel. It’s like she’s a target that they’re zeroing in on and I’m sorry, but she doesn’t stand a single chance.

In fact, she knows she doesn’t stand a chance. So she stands in the middle of the aisle with the pillow covering her face and screams so loud that I swear the windows wobbled. At least ten pillows are all flying through the air at the same time, and somehow they all manage to connect with her. If they were real dodgeballs, I would check to see if she was hurt and probably stand in front of her and yell at everyone who threw them because ten at one time is pretty excessive no matter how much you hate her. But they’re just pillows, I know she’s not hurt, and for the first time in forever, it doesn’t seem like anyone is annoyed with Rachel at all. It’s a good night, if I dare to say it.

As soon as the onslaught of pillows stops, Rachel slowly takes her hands away from her face and drops the unicorn pillow. But then Mercedes always has to get the last word, so it's really not all that surprising when a stray green pillow comes flying through the air and hits Rachel in the side of her face after everything is over.

The pillow Mercedes threw didn’t hit her that hard, but it was hard enough to knock her ponytail a little bit loose and make her hair fall in front of her face. When Rachel opens her eyes, all she says is “ow” and I know she’s okay because she’s grinning seconds after it happens and she’s not bleeding or anything like that, but I still didn’t like that. I didn’t like that at all and I make a mental note to text Mercedes later and tell her that I didn’t like her throwing an extra pillow at her like that.

Since she’s out now too, Rachel drags her feet back up the aisle and sits in the seat beside me again, with her legs propped up on my lap. It’s dark so I can’t see anything for sure, but I turn my head and look at her anyway just to make sure that she really is okay. Her hair is a little messy, so I brush my hands along it to smooth it back.

“You okay?” I touch her cheek where the pillow hit her to see if I can feel any welts. “Anything hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” she nods and slips her phone out of her jacket pocket. “I hate to be such a party pooper, but I’m getting really sleepy.”

“You can go to sleep if you want. You want my blanket? Want me to switch sides with you so you can lean against the window?” I start unfolding my blanket just in case she says yes to wanting it. I made sure I grabbed the one big enough to cover both of us, but if she wants it to herself, she can have it.

“Well they’re talking about playing one more round of dodgepillow after this, so.” She checks the time on her phone and sighs. 

I don’t think she’s actually sleepy. I know Rachel. When she’s sleepy, she’s not going to whine about it and be huffy. She doesn’t get cranky when she’s sleepy. When she’s truly sleepy, she gets cuddly. She wants to lie on my shoulder or hold my hand or rub my arm. She’s not truly sleepy. This is about her feeling like she won’t get enough rest to sing very well tomorrow. She’s been upset about traveling late since Mr. Schue told us we were going to travel late and sleep on the bus last week.

“Here, lay on me.” I offer her my shoulder by scooting closer and I spread my blanket across both our laps. “Put your head down.”

“They’re playing another round after this and I know you —“

“I don’t care about playing,” I shrug my shoulders and pat my left shoulder for her to lay her head on it. “Here, go to sleep. I don’t need to play another round, I don’t care about playing another round. I care about you getting some rest, so come on. Lie down.”

“It’s too loud,” she sighs again but puts her head on my shoulder which is a step in the right direction. She pulls my blanket up to her neck and shifts her body so that she’s comfortable in the seat with me. “Who were you texting earlier?”

“Huh?” I tuck the blanket behind my back to make sure it stays in place just where she wants it to be. “When? I was texting a lot of people earlier.”

“Earlier when we got on the bus. When we sat down and I wanted to hold your hand but you told me to wait because you were texting. Who were you texting?” Underneath the blanket, her hand finds its way to mine. “I mean, you don’t have to answer. It’s not really my business. I was just wondering.”

“It was just Frannie.”

“Your sister?”

“Mhm. We text now. She was just asking when our Christmas break from school is because she wants me to come to Massachusetts to visit her. She’s trying to buy me a plane ticket and everything.” My thumb mindlessly strokes her knuckles and even though we could hold hands over the blanket because everyone in Glee club knows she’s my girlfriend, I still feel more comfortable holding her hand underneath the blanket.

“Well that’s exciting. Are you gonna go?” She yawns and scoots a little closer to me.

“I dunno. I haven’t asked my parents yet. I’m not sure that they’ll say yes. I honestly think they’ll probably say no. They’re like, super protective over me and I just can’t see them letting me go to Massachusetts by myself for three days. But I don’t wanna break Frannie’s heart either.”

“Just tell her that your parents said no. She has to respect that. And if they do say no, I don’t really blame them. I would never let my seventeen-year-old daughter leave the state by herself.”

“I know, I know. I won’t blame them for saying no either. I’m honestly debating on whether I should even ask. I already know they’re going to say no and it’s not like I actually want to go. I mean, I want to see Frannie again, but —“

“You never did tell me how that went with her. You told me she came to see you on Thanksgiving, but that’s all I got from you. Did you guys like, reconnect or something? Is she on your side with the whole thing between you and your parents?”

“Frannie hates my mom and dad just as much as I hate them. We’re practically one in the same.” Just sitting here talking, I’m getting a little sleepy myself. My head collapses on top of Rachel’s head and I yawn too. “She said some really mean things to me at first.”

“Like what?”

“Like… like how she doesn’t support me being gay and how she doesn’t think that I should be living with Mercedes because her family’s… not what I deserve or whatever, I forget how she phrased it. But it was really mean. I let her hold Beth and she said all these mean things to me.”

“Aww, baby,” she squeezes my hand underneath the blanket. “I’m sorry. I know she probably made you feel horrible.”

“She did,” I admit. “But then she came back the next day and we had a heart-to-heart. She apologized and stuff and she even said that she wants to get to know you. We just like, sat and talked about a lot of things. And a lot of the things she said made sense. And I dunno, I guess… I don’t know.”

“If something happened, you can tell me.” She picks her head up from my shoulder which makes me have to move my head. But I think she only did that because she wants to switch roles. She puts her hand on my cheek and forces my head down on her shoulder, so instead of her head being on my shoulder, my head is on her shoulder. “You’ve been acting kind of like, different lately.”

“I have? How?”

“You’ve just been like, quieter. And texting her a lot, I’ve noticed. Like yesterday at school, you didn’t touch your French fries and you usually eat them all. You just texted Frannie all through lunch, so I figured something happened with her, I just didn’t know what.”

“Yeah.” _ I know me and Rachel try not to keep secrets from each other, and ever since Frannie told me about dad, I have been feeling a little sad. I would love to talk to Rachel about it and get it off my chest since I won’t see Bailey until Tuesday. But it’s not my story to tell. It’s Frannie’s story and I don’t think I should share it with anyone. But we have no secrets between us… _

“Well?” She nudges me softly. “Did something happen?”

“...I can’t talk about it.” I sigh.

“Quinn, we don’t do secrets. You and me, we don’t… do that. Not anymore, not since you told me about you and Santana. We agreed. So if something’s bothering you and it’s something I can help you with, then —“

“You can’t, though. You can’t help me with this. I don’t think anybody can. It’s… it’s not something that can be fixed. No matter how hard anybody tries.”

“Now you’re starting to scare me.” She loosens the grip she has around my hand. “What’s the matter with you? What’s going on? You can tell me anything.”

“...You have to swear you won’t tell. I mean it, Rachel. You cannot tell anybody, not even Mercedes. You can’t even breathe about it, okay? After I tell you, it’s done. It’s done, it’s over and you forget about it. I mean it. It’s serious. You can’t tell a soul.”

“Obviously I won’t say anything to anybody, now what’s wrong?” She lets my hand go and picks her head up from mine just so she can face me. And even though it’s dark, I can see that she’s looking at me with the utmost concern laced into her expression. “What’s going on?”

I turn my head and look at the way the reflectors shine on the ground as the bus chugs along the highway. The bright orange construction signs turn to orange blobs with the speed we’re going at and concentrating on the orange blobs makes it easier for me to say what I’m about to say to her.

_ I can trust Rachel. She won’t tell. It’s just Rachel. It’s not my story to tell, it’s Frannie’s. But it’s just Rachel and it’s been bothering me since Frannie told me and I can’t see Bailey until Tuesday and I just have to let it out. I have to… _

“...My dad used to touch my sister.” I say it only loud enough for her to barely hear it.

But I know she heard it because I hear the way her breath catches in her throat when she gasps. And from the corner of my eye, I see the way her hand comes up to cover her mouth.

“Quinn…” She says in a loud whispers. “Oh my god…”

“Yeah. She just told me about it before she left town and I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like… like I keep running through my memories trying to think of a time where I could have noticed something. Like was there a time when things were fishy? Did I ever notice things getting weird? And Rachel, I had no clue. I had _ no _clue…”

“Well he was probably really good at hiding it, most sick people like that are.” She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t understand, I… did she say how? Or when?”

“Apparently every night when he tucked her into bed and every time we went to the beach. And she told my mom once, but my mom didn’t care. She cared for a minute but then bribed her to keep her mouth shut and I just… I feel so lost now, Rach. It’s like… like I never even knew who my parents were. I lived in a house with a child molester for sixteen years and I never knew a thing. My mom knew the whole time and she never did anything about it. She didn’t protect me or protect Frannie or —“

“Oh god, he didn’t do it to you too, did he?”

“No! God, no. No. He never did anything to me, never even showed signs, never even gave me an inkling. He didn’t do anything to me. He threw a glass at my head for mouthing off once. He missed, but it shattered everywhere and I cut my foot. That’s it. He never looked at me a certain way, never came in and touched me, never… nothing.” I stop looking out the window and look at Rachel instead. “...He washed his hands after putting Frannie to bed, every single night. How did I not know?”

“Because you were still innocent.” She cups her hand around my cheek. “You know… the only person who would notice the signs and check for the signs are the people who are either trained for it or know it first hand. You still had your innocence. Of course you didn’t know.”

“You have to swear you won’t say anything to anyone Rachel, I really mean it.” I gently push her hand away from my face to let her know I mean business. “This isn’t something that can get out. You can’t say anything. You don’t understand what my dad is capable of. If anyone else knows about this…”

“Okay, let’s drop it then. It stays between us and we’re dropping it. Alright?” I nod and look away and she goes back to holding my hand underneath the blanket. “So did I tell you how dinner with Shelby went?”

“No,” I interlock our fingers under the blanket. _ Smooth change. Okay, good. Dad is out of my mind, Frannie is out of my mind. They’re out of my mind. No more talking about it, no more thinking about it. _“Was it horrible? I kind of assumed it wasn’t horrible because you took forever to get to my house and Shelby took forever to come get Beth.”

“It was great, Quinn.” She sighs dreamily and goes back to our original position of her lying on my shoulder and my head resting against hers. “They all _ really _liked each other. I know I wasn’t even born yet, but I felt like they picked up where they left off sixteen years ago. They seemed like old friends. I could tell Shelby was nervous but she calmed down after like, six seconds. Then my dads brought out the old photo albums. Shelby wanted to see how I grew up and she looked at every single picture. Some of them made her cry. And then my dads told her thank you for giving me to them and I swear Quinn, it felt like a Hallmark movie. It really did. It was like… so rewarding for Shelby to see that she did the right thing.”

“It sounds like it was pretty beautiful.”

“It really was. And I started to think… and I told Shelby that she should make one for you.” I feel her smiling against my shoulder but I don’t want to move my head to look down and see it.

“You did what?”

“I told her to make one for you. A photo album. Of Beth. Just something you can look back on when Beth is sixteen and you’re having Thanksgiving dinner with her and Shelby someday. Because this might not last forever, you know? You’re gonna go to college and get the hell out of Lima and make something of yourself. You’re destined for greatness, Quinn. You really are. And when you leave… maybe you won’t see Beth as much anymore. But you should still have a way to look back and see the life you gave her. I think that’ll be beautiful. So I told Shelby to make one for you.”

“...You are incredible, Rachel Berry.”

* * *

I adjust the grip on my phone so I can stretch out my fingers because even with my popsocket, holding my phone is making my fingers cramp up. I think Rachel knows that I’m getting a cramp, because she reaches up and takes the phone off of me and holds it between the both of us instead of making me hold it.

I’m not sure what time it is, all I know is that about half an hour ago, the dodgepillow games stopped and everyone decided to wind down after Mr. Schue told us that we needed to try and get some rest so we’re not completely exhausted. Santana and Brittany took the seat across from me and Rachel and settled in just like us, and they took our idea of finding something to watch on Netflix. I’m pretty sure me and Rachel’s movie is about to be over because we’ve been watching for a while and all the good stuff has already happened. We started to binge watch a show together but then we agreed that the show would make us want to stay up and keep watching, so then we settled on a movie called “Unbelievable” instead. And it’s good. It’s good enough to have kept me up and interested.

Turns out I was right about it almost being over, because after another five or so minutes, the credits start to roll. Rachel exits my Netflix app then hands me my phone back as I pull the shared headphones out of both our ears.

“I didn’t like the ending,” Rachel mumbles and sits upright to readjust her position enough for us to fall asleep.

“Yeah, I know. It was kind of shitty.” I lock my phone and lean my head on my pillow, against the window. Rachel puts her head against my shoulder and makes sure we both have enough of the blanket so that it’s shared evenly. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” she holds my hand and snuggles up close to me. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” I close my eyes and try to get in the right mindset to fall asleep.

I am a little exhausted, I’m not going to lie about that. But I can’t ever fall into a deep sleep in any moving vehicle, so I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep. Good thing the competition is early so we’ll be done early. We’re not far enough from home to stay in a hotel, so Mr. Schue didn’t bother to spend the budget and rent rooms. We’re just going to go to Pittsburgh, perform, win, then go back home. By this time tomorrow, I will be in my cozy little bed about to wake up in a few hours and eat whatever delicious thing Mom made for breakfast.

Just as I think I’m actually going to be able to sleep, I feel my phone buzz in my lap. When I open my eyes, I see that Rachel is still scrolling through her phone, which is what she usually does when she’s waiting to fall asleep. If she’s on her phone, then the text message is probably from her.

I slip one hand out of the warmth of the blanket and use it to check my phone.

**New Text Message**

**Saturday, December 7**

**3:52 a.m.**

**SANTANA: **u up?

**Text Message**

**Saturday, December 7**

**3:52 a.m.**

**ME: **you already know i’m up, you’re looking right at me.

**ME: **what do you want?

**SANTANA: **I cant sleep

**ME: **me either but what do you want me to do about it?

**SANTANA: **Was wondering if u are up 4 a repeat

**ME: **what do you mean?

**ME: **repeat of what?

**SANTANA: **The challenge …

**SANTANA: **I was about 2 do it anyway b/c Brit is in the mood. But thought 2 txt u 1st n see if u wanted to try n get bragging rights

**SANTANA: **Double or nothin

The smile that is on my face is devious and it crept across my lips without me really noticing. Before I text her back a solid answer, I glance over and make sure Rachel is still awake. If she’s sleeping then the answer is obviously no. But if she’s still awake, chances are she’s having a tough time falling asleep too and maybe this will help her out… I’ll just think of it as doing her a favor. Ha.

Sure enough, Rachel’s still scrolling through her phone.

**Text Message**

**Saturday, December 7**

**3:54 a.m.**

**ME: **challenge accepted. ready. set. go.

As soon as I put my phone back down, I adjust the blanket just to make sure it’s covering Rachel’s lap completely, then I rest the palm of my hand on her kneecap and curl my fingers over to the inside of her thigh. This is how I always ask her for permission before I touch her. It’s like our own little language. Any time I put my hand on her knee, she knows what I want. She knows what I’m asking. And so far, she’s never denied me.

Tonight’s no different. I know as soon as she parts her knees and opens up her legs a little, I have full control over where it goes from here. That’s the way I like it. I like having control. I like knowing that I’m in charge of making her feel good.

Even as I walk my fingers up her thigh, she just keeps looking at her phone. If I was interested in looking over her shoulder, I would just be able to see that she’s going through Instagram and liking a bunch of pictures on her feed. But I’m more focused on something else, so her phone isn’t really a priority.

She wore sweatpants to travel in and thank god they’re loose. If she were wearing jeans or anything else tight fitting, it might have been a little hard to get my hand where it needs to be, but her sweatpants are forgiving. I pull the drawstring until it’s undone and she shifts so that her legs are facing me instead of forward, but she never even looks away from her phone. _ Way to play it off. _

I loop my thumb over the waistband of her sweats and pull the fabric away from her skin just enough for me to weasel my hand down the front of her pants. Since this was kind of random, I know that she’s probably not totally in the mood yet, so I use my thumb to stroke her through her underwear first. They’re that smooth, satin fabric that only comes this silky from Victoria’s Secret. Since they’re silky, my thumb glides across them pretty easily. But I stop at the soft lump towards the middle of her underwear, and work my thumb in a very slow circle right there.

Her legs stiffen a little and she closes her eyes, but opens them after a second or two as if she just took one long blink. I don’t want to take my thumb off her clit. If I could, I would keep it there, nice and steady with my pace, forever. But I need to know if she’s wet enough, so I move down a little bit just to feel the fabric a little deeper below. And once I feel that it’s damp, that’s my cue to go inside her underwear.

The same way I opened her sweatpants is the same way I open her underwear enough to let my hand inside. And I don’t waste a single moment, I don’t tease her or play with her like I’d usually do. My index finger slides right in and she’s already dripping down to the palm of my hand. I think I caught her off guard with the way I just put a finger in, because she gasps softly and squirms in the seat. But she settles down pretty quickly and switches to a new app on her phone.

I usually use my middle finger and my index finger when I’m doing this, because it’s the easiest combination of fingers for me to manipulate the way I need them to be manipulated. But if I’m working under pressure and trying to get her off quickly, I use my middle finger and my ring finger because that’s the easiest combination for me to be able to reach other places with my thumb. It’s kind of crazy how I have my own methods now. I’m not saying I’m a pro at having sex with girls now. I’m just saying that a few months ago, I would have never thought I’d be in a position to have different methods of pleasing a girl. It’s crazy how far you can come whenever you’re comfortable with your sexuality.

My ring finger joins my middle finger inside of her and that’s when she just drops her phone onto the empty space on the seat between us. Instead of looking at her phone now, she buries her face in the crook of my neck and lets out a long, drawn out breath into it. When my thumb goes back to its original job and starts working her in a circle while my fingers back and forth, that’s when I feel her lips close around my neck. She sucks so hard that I’m sure she’ll leave a mark, but I don’t care. For some reason, her giving me a hickey kind of turns me on a bit, so I move my fingers inside of her just a little faster.

She lets out a breath against my neck again and this time, a very soft, satisfied moan follows it. It’s a moan so low that only I could hear, but her moans always drive me insane. I keep the pace my fingers are at, but move my thumb a little faster…

“Q-Quinn…” she chokes my name out through a whisper and I feel her teeth against my shoulder next.

“Yeah?” I whisper back just to mess with her. She’s biting my shoulder, but I kiss the top of her head and smirk because I can always tell when she’s getting close and she definitely… is getting close…

She’s hotter inside, wetter and runnier. The palm of my hand is soaked. She’s so close, so close, so… close.

She’s there. Usually I can tell because she screams a whole lot when she climaxes. It’s mostly a lot of moaning, some heavy breathing, maybe a cuss word or two depending on how dirty we’re being. And lots of screams. Lots and lots and lots of screams if we’re alone and there’s no risks of us getting caught. But now, since she can’t scream and go crazy like I always love to watch her do, I have to rely on other tells to know she’s there.

It’s very telling when she reaches down and grabs onto my arm. She squeezes my arm, holds it between her legs tightly, makes it nearly impossible for me to move. If my adrenaline wasn’t pumping, I’m sure it would hurt to have her fingernails dug so deeply into my arm. Her thighs close around my hand and she grits her teeth together like she’s trying to hold back a scream or a moan. And her hips jerk twice as her legs shake. And when she’s done, she finally releases me.

_ Job well done. I deserve a pat on my back. _

I kiss the side of her forehead even though it’s sweaty, then slowly take my hands out of her pants. Like I said before, there’s nothing about Rachel that grosses me out, so I’m perfectly fine with the way I wipe my hand off on the side of my jeans. 

Instead of holding my hand underneath the blanket, this time she wraps her hands around the part of my arm that she squeezed and left indentations on. Head on my shoulder, she closes her eyes rubs the places on my arm that will probably be sore and bruised tomorrow.

While she’s still coming down, I pick my phone up again and draft out my text to Santana.

**Text Message**

**Saturday, December 7**

**4:07 a.m.**

**ME: **done :)

Rachel gently swats me with her hand for telling Santana that I’ve already made her orgasm, but she light smile on her face lets me know that she doesn’t truly care. Which is great because I would feel horrible if she did care. I told her about the first challenge me and Santana did at the sleepover and she didn’t care then. She shook her head at me and said “now Santana knows what my orgasm face looks like… that’s nice.”

It wouldn’t be a problem if she did care, though. If she cared, I would simply never challenge Santana ever again. Come to think of it, maybe I never will challenge her again anyway. It’s safe to say that I won this challenge because she’s still moving under her and Brittany’s blanket and she hasn’t texted me back yet. I won this time. And maybe it’s time to hang it up while I can still brag.

While she continues to stroke and caress my arm, I lay my head against the window and close my eyes, because maybe if I lay here long enough with my eyes closed, I’ll be able to fall asleep.

Eyes still closed, I feel her touch around my arm get lighter and lighter until eventually, she stops touching me altogether. And for a moment, I think that she’s just settling in to go to sleep too. But I only think that for a moment, because it’s not long before I feel her touch me again. This time, her hand finds its way to my leg too. And I’m okay at first. I’m okay as she inches her hand up a little, still okay as it curves to the inner parts of my thigh.

I start to feel myself getting to the point where I want to freeze and tell her to stop or push her away. But I’ve been practicing like Bailey taught me to practice and I’m really wanting it to work. I want this. This is a good touch, not a bad touch. She stops before she touches me _ there _, and strokes the inside of my thigh with her fingertips almost as if she’s asking, “is this okay?”

So I hold my breath, part my legs for her, and decide to take a leap of faith this time.

* * *

For a group of kids who only slept about a maximum of three hours on the bus, I’d say we’re in pretty good shape. Mr. Schue went to go check us in at the front desk and get our performance ticket, so he sort of left Miss Pillsbury in charge of overseeing our rehearsal… if you could call it that. It’s mostly just us goofing off and not taking anything seriously because after only three hours of sleep, Mr. Schue had to do _ something _to wake us up and give us energy to perform.

I think he feels guilty about making us travel late at night instead of early in the morning. In fact, I know he feels guilty and knows that his big idea was a complete bust because when we got here and the bus pulled up in front of the building, he had to go down the aisle to each individual seat and wake us up. We all groggy, practically like zombies, and I heard him tell Pillsbury that he “doesn’t know how these kids are going to perform.”

After we all got off the bus and filed into the performance hall — which is beautiful, by the way — he came into the dressing room with us and told us to get dressed and that he’d be back. We were all totally sluggish. I mean, it took me at least ten minutes to gather enough energy to take my boots off and I’m not kidding. I was still sitting on the bench inside of me and Rachel’s dressing stall, trying to keep my eyes open whenever he came back.

And this is how I know he was feeling guilty about making us sleep on the bus instead of letting us sleep at home in our beds; I know this because he came back with four big shopping bags full of performance crack to give us energy. He turned the bags over on the small couch in the dressing room and let everything spill out, then told us to help ourselves.

There were snack cakes, protein bars, energy cookies, granola bars, Red Bull, Monster, Mountain Dew Kickstarts, those little canned Starbucks energy drinks, Pixy Stix, at least six different kinds of chocolate… it was like a little kid’s fantasy with how much candy was there. He didn’t have any rules about what we _ couldn’t _have, but his one rule was that everybody consume at least three Pixy Stix and I felt like I was ingesting crack cocaine when the sugary powder dissolved on my tongue.

Anyway, I don’t know if it was the eight Pixy Stix I ended up consuming or if it was the three cans of Monster I ended up drinking and the one Starbucks drink I shared with Rachel, but I feel great right now. I have all the energy in the world, I feel like I could run a marathon and I’m ready to go out there and kick some show choir ass.

“Q, can you tie this for me?” Mercedes approaches me when I’m standing on top of the coffee table for no good reason other than the fact that I’m on a sugar high. She turns around and let’s the ribbon on her dress dangle, and I climb down off the coffee table to tie it for her.

“Nervous?” I ask her as I make sure the loops in the bow I tie are completely even. I like our costumes for regionals better than our costumes for sectionals. This time around, us girls have on dark red dresses made of heavy velvet fabric, and black velvet ribbons get tied around our waists. The dresses are fairly short cocktail dresses, but the trains in the backs of them are long and flowy. The boys kind of match us. They wear black dress pants and neat white and gold shirts underneath of a red velvet suit coat. Their suit coats have long trains just like our dresses and they kind of look like they’re our ringleaders. They look like they've been pulled out of leading a circus, which is fitting, I guess.

“I keep feeling like I’m gonna throw up.” Mercedes sits down on the makeup bench after I tie the ribbon in her dress and takes a deep breath. “What if Rachel was right? What if she should’ve gotten this solo?”

“Don’t say that,” I grab my makeup palette from the desk behind her and cake a little bit of gold eyeshadow on my brush. Mercedes closes her eyes because she knows that the makeup is for her, and I start by brushing a thin layer of gold on her left eyelid. “You’re gonna kill it. You can sing that song in your sleep, you know you can. You’re just as good as Rachel, stop selling yourself short. The Mercedes I know never gets nervous. She never doubts herself. She knows exactly what she can do.” I blow on her face to clear away the excess makeup. “Open?”

She opens her eyes and I grin at her because she looks really pretty. “I just keep thinking about how I botched that note while I was sick. I keep thinking that I’m gonna do it again.”

“You won’t. Look up.” I pick up my eyeliner and start dragging it along the bottom of her eyelids when she looks toward the ceiling. “You’re gonna be great. Just pretend like we’re back home in Lima, in the auditorium, just doing our thing.”

“You mean to tell me you’re not nervous?” She blinks about a thousand times once I’m done doing her eyeliner.

“Nah,” I shake my mascara up before I use it on her. “I just know that whatever Vocal Adrenaline and Aural Intensity have up their sleeves is nowhere near as good as what we’ve got.

“I hope you’re right, Quinn.” She sighs and lets me scrape mascara onto her eyelashes. “Mom and Dad called, I meant to tell you. You were still getting dressed and doing Rachel’s makeup, so I didn’t want to bother you, but they called. They told us good luck and wanted me to send their love to you.”

“Did you tell them we didn’t sleep?” I use my thumb to clean up a little piece of mascara that won’t cooperate.

“No, I didn’t want to worry them. Plus, they were driving so they couldn’t talk very long.”

“Where were they driving to this early?”

“I dunno, they wouldn’t say. Just that they were busy, they loved us and had to go.” Once I’m done doing her makeup, she turns around to look at herself in the mirror and her face lights up. “...Wow. I never thought gold eyeshadow would look right on me, but… wow.”

“You’re gorgeous, ‘Cedes. You didn’t need my help, it’s just a little makeup to highlight how pretty you are.” I close all my makeup and put it back into my makeup bag. “Go take a breather and rehearse. I’m gonna go see if Santana wants to run through the dance number.”

I have so much energy that I practically skip over to the little corner where Santana, Brittany and Sugar are all sitting on the floor and stretching. Santana never did text me back from the challenge. I think she just didn’t want to admit defeat.

“You guys running through the first number?” I ask as I sit down next to them too.

“Yeah, in a minute. We’re just stretching first, then Sugar’s gonna go get more food and then we’re running it.” Santana stretches her back by leaning forward and putting her elbows onto the floor. “Where’d your girlfriend go?”

“Her and Finn went off to that room next door to rehearse their duet. She said it was too loud and crazy in here and you know how Rachel gets, so. I’m letting her have her space.” I roll my eyes as I’m explaining because I was really annoyed when she first told me she wanted to go off and rehearse in private with Finn. But she kept assuring me that nothing was going to happen and that she loved me so I just decided that fighting before regionals wasn’t worth it and I let her go.

“I can’t remember if I put deodorant on or not…” Brittany stops stretching all of a sudden like the realization startled her or something.

“...So just go put more on then?” I suggest.

“You’re a genius, Quinn.” She stands up from the floor and goes over to where she left her bag, and eventually Sugar gets up to go get her food, I assume. 

It’s me and it’s Santana and we have a short moment alone, and if she thought I wasn’t going to ask about her lack of texting me back, then she is dead wrong.

“So did I win? I dunno, you were pretty silent after being bold initially, so. I’m pretty much assuming that I won.” I stretch by leaning my head down to my kneecap like Coach Sylvester used to make us do in Cheerios camp.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it to you. You won that time.” She rolls her eyes at me and sits upright. “It was different for me last night though. I mean if I was trying to beat you then I definitely would have beat you, but it feels so much different now. I mean, Brit’s not with Artie anymore so she can be with me officially and… whatever, okay? Don’t get used to it. You’re still a loser, Fabray.”

“Thank you for your congratulations, Santana. It’s much appreciated.” I stretch down to the other side and groan because it actually hurts so bad that it feels good. “So is that it? Are you and Brit a thing now?”

“I don’t know what we are and I’m not really gonna question it. I’m not trying to force anything and make her run away from me, so.” She pulls her knees up into her chest and sighs. “I’m happy with it, though.”

“I can understand that.” I do what she did a second ago with leaning down to the middle so I can stretch my back out. “You guys get your dresses for winter formal yet? It’s like, what? In two weeks or something?”

“Yeah, two Fridays.” Santana nods. “I think Brit wants to wear a suit. I don’t care if she does, she’ll just make me look good. I haven’t gotten my dress yet, but I’m thinking gold.”

“I think me and Rachel are gonna wear blue. Or I dunno, she said something about red. But I don’t look good in red, so I don’t know. I’m gonna have to fight with her a little when we get back home.”

“You come up with a way to ask her to go with you yet?” She asks.

“I came up with an _ awesome _ way to ask her to go with me. You’re just gonna have to wait and see. She’ll tell you _ all _about it, I’m sure. It’s just that good.” I reply.

“Are you trying to out-lesbian me?”

“It’s already been done.”

* * *

Rachel and Finn have been gone for a while and we go on in like half an hour and we can’t run through the first number without them because it’s basically just Finn, Blaine and Artie singing the main parts. So since Rachel is my girlfriend, everyone enlisted me to go find her and drag her back to the dressing room. And let me tell you, I never wanted to spend my Saturday morning trying to navigate my way through a performance center that I know nothing about but here I am.

The center is beautiful, don’t get me wrong. There are glass chandeliers hanging every twenty feet and the architecture sort of looks like classical Roman buildings. Everything is old and antique feeling and the carpets all all a very rich red. It’s probably the prettiest place we’ve ever performed, and that’s including at Hershey.

I have no idea where I’m going. Rachel said they were going to the room next door to rehearse but this place is so big that I don’t even know which way next door actually even is. I’ve been walking for what feels like a mile and I haven’t even reached another door, so which way is next door?

Even though Mr. Schue has us wearing a very tiny heel, the heels are still sinking into the thick carpet and it makes it a little hard to walk, so I stop right in the middle of the hallway and take my shoes off. And as soon as I stop, that’s when I hear singing. And I’d know Rachel’s voice anywhere.

It sounds like it’s coming from a room across the hall, so I follow it and eventually it leads me to a door just a few feet away from where I was standing. I press my ear against the door to make sure it’s them that I’m hearing, and Finn is singing his part next so I’m sure it’s them. I’m sure and I don’t want to interrupt when they’re in the middle of the song, so I keep my ear pressed against the door and just listen with my eyes closed.

I can’t wait to go home and tell Bailey about regionals on Tuesday. I have so much I want to tell her already. First of all, I want to tell her about Frannie and how she came back to apologize to me and about my dad. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about what Frannie told me, but I know Bailey will have the answers.

Oh, and I also want to tell her about how much she helped me. Even though her idea was initially weird, it helped me out a whole lot. 

Especially on the bus…  
  


_ She waits for me to open my legs like it’s a silent confirmation that she can go further and for some reason, I kind of sense that she was expecting me to ask her to stop. I sense that she’s surprised when I pull my knees apart from each other and let her go further. _

_ I let out the breath that I sucked in before she started and let my head rest against the cold window because I suddenly feel hot. I think it’s a good kind of hot, though. It’s the kind of hot that radiates through my entire body and makes me dizzy. _

_ I wore leggings because I wanted to be comfortable on the bus. They’re not very tight, but they’re not extremely loose either and she’s having a tough time pulling them away from my hips, so I help her out. I scoot closer to her, then turn so that I’m facing her a little more. She turns toward me, too and before I get a chance to start reaching down to help her myself, her lips crash against mine. I want to kiss her, I really do. But kissing isn’t as easy to just throw a blanket over our laps and hide. So I kiss her pretty intensely for a few seconds, then I pull away. But in that time of us kissing, she used both her hands and managed to peel my leggings away from my skin. _

_ Her fingertips are so soft against my skin that chills race up my spine and make me shudder. Just like she did when I was the one pleasuring her, she burrows her face in my neck and I feel her lips graze the same spot I know she left a hickey on. I guess to anybody else, it could look like we’re just sleeping. She’s laying with her head on my shoulder, facing my neck and my eyes are closed. You can’t tell what we’re doing just by first glance. _

_ I lift my hips up just a little so she can move her hand deeper between my legs and as soon as I do that, I feel her index finger. And for the first time, I feel totally… relaxed. Like I can concentrate on how it actually feels rather than how it makes me feel. In this moment, it’s just something that me and her are doing together and there’s nobody else in my head to tarnish it. For the first time ever… it feels really good. _

_ And I want to moan, which is something totally new for me. A moan isn’t something I want to force out just so she feels like she’s doing something for me, it’s something that wants to escape my lips naturally. It’s not like the first time we had sex and not like the time we did it in the shower. It actually feels good and I want to moan and I know what it feels like when she can’t sit still because now I can’t either. It feels too good to sit still… _

_ When I exhale, a very slight noise comes out of my mouth but I’m pretty quick about shutting myself up. Am I a moaner? Am I a heavy breather? Do I cuss a lot? Do I mumble under my breath? How do I act during sex? I don’t know anything about myself in that aspect and maybe… maybe I can figure it out, finally. Maybe when we get back home and we have some privacy up in her bedroom because my parents never let us shut the door, I can figure out exactly what I’m like in bed. This is exciting. This is new. This isn’t something I ever thought would happen. _

_ She has just one finger inside of me instead of two and I think she’s just trying to be cautious and gentle because she knows this could be bad for me, but it’s not bad. It’s not bad at all. It’s… it’s really good. It’s really, really good. _

_ I know she’s surprised when I start moving my hips back and forth like she always does to me, because I never do that. The two times I let her do this to me were solely mechanical. It was a lot of her trying to get a reaction out of me and a lot of me trying to act like I wasn’t completely spaced out. In fact, I know she’s surprised when my hips start moving. I know she’s surprised because that’s when she adds another finger and it feels like… like a totally different experience altogether. _

_ Is this what people mean when they say sex is good? Because I get it now, I totally get it. I bite down on my bottom lip and suck in a deep breath that sounds really close to a gasp. How does she stay still whenever I’m doing this? Is this how she feels when I’m doing it to her? I can’t stay still, it’s too… oh god, it’s too… _

_ “Shit.” I whisper to her and maybe I’m a cusser. Maybe I’m the type to cuss during sex, and that’s exciting because I am a type. I have a sex characteristic. I have one! I’m not broken, I’m not impossible, I’m not a prude! I actually have something that I do during sex! _

_ I squirm so much that I feel like I might slide out of the seat, and she uses her other hand — the one that’s not occupied — to push down on my thigh and keep me steady. I feel like I’m gonna cuss again, especially when she has her thumb moving back and forth and her fingers moving back and forth and her lips against my neck and I… _

_ Feel like something is happening? Like something exploding? Or electrocuting me in a good way? _

_ This is NOT what happened the first time we had sex, it’s not even close! This time it’s… it’s a thousand different things rushing around inside of me. It’s me curling my toes inside of my boots and wanting to scream and wanting to grab onto something or bite something. It’s feeling my body is on pins and needles, a static kind of feeling all over me. It’s feeling a little tighter down there, like someone’s pulling a string inside of me. It’s feeling sweat collecting at my temple and liquid gushing from me. It’s building and building and when it releases I want to scream again and I made fun of Tina for never having an orgasm but GOD, I don’t think I’ve ever had one either… _

Not until tonight.  
  


I think she knew that was my first time having one, because she got all nice and gentle after that. And she didn’t stop until she knew I was completely done and it was completely over. It was like she wanted me to have the full experience and she didn’t want to stop until she was sure I did. She didn’t mention how much different I acted during that time, but I know she knew that it was different. She knew it was very different and it was.

Even after, I didn’t think about being raped. I just thought about how much I loved her in that moment and how much I’d been missing out on. Maybe I’m still basking in some incredible afterglow, but I really do love her. I love her so much that I honestly can’t see myself without her. I don’t know what my life would be like without her and I don’t ever really want to find out.

Anyway, my eyes slowly open when I hear her and Finn winding down their song. They have a few words left to sing together, but I think it’s pretty much safe to open the door now, so I push the handle down and open it slowly.

** _“You know I want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide.” _ **Finn takes a step closer to her like they’ve been doing every day in rehearsal as he sings his last line of the song.

** _“But I can’t have you.” _ ** Rachel steps toward him too and there’s practically no empty space between them anymore, which is okay. This is how we practiced, it’s just to make the performance seem more authentic and real. They’re acting. Rachel loves me and it’s fine that she has to sing with Finn. ** _“We’re bound to break and my hands are tied.”_ **

_ Damn, their voices sound good together. _They’re done singing now, so they have to look at each other for a few super intense moments as the crowd processes what they just watched. That was Mr. Schue’s idea. Rachel and Finn stare into each other’s eyes, playing the part of forbidden lovers. They glare at each other with palpable intensity and breathable sexual tension, then the lights go dim as we get ready for Mercedes’ solo to end out the show. That’s how it goes.

But they never rehearsed Finn touching Rachel’s cheek… so why does he cradle her cheek in his hands? Real gentle, like she’s made of glass and might break. And why hasn’t Rachel looked away from him yet?

My heart feels like it’s going to stop beating.

Especially when I see her raise up on her tiptoes… tilt her head… 

And lean in to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just curious to know... anyone have any guesses on which three songs they’re singing for regionals? Hint: They’re all from the same movie/soundtrack.


	60. Rewrite The Stars

I find it very strange how you can physically feel when something hurts your feelings.

It’s like your chest gets all tight and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Then your stomach gets a cramp deep in the pit of it but it’s nothing like any cramp you’ve ever had before. It’s not like when you eat too fast and upset your stomach or when you eat something bad and have to use the bathroom. It’s a very specific type of hurt, the way your stomach hurts when something hurts your feelings. Your heart aches, too. You feel like it’s going to beat out of your chest for a moment and when that stops, it feels like someone took a dagger and stabbed it right through you. That’s what getting your feelings hurt feels like.

I don’t want to torture myself by being here, don’t want to torture myself by staying. But it’s like the second I see their lips touch each other ever so lightly and his hand stays on her cheek, I can’t stop looking. Everything inside of me is saying that I should run away or close my eyes at the very least, but I just can’t look away. It’s like when you’re on the highway after being stuck in a pileup. After you get through the traffic and pass the scene of the accident, you just can’t stop staring. Even though you know you probably shouldn’t look.

Finn wraps his free hand around her waist and opens his mouth a little to deepen the kiss and she still doesn’t pull away… _ why is she doing this?_

_ I thought we had something between us, I really did. I thought for the first time in a long time, I was going to be happy. She told me she loved me and I had finally been starting to believe it. We just started learning how to work through our issues when we have disagreements. She spent Thanksgiving with my family, I went on their annual trip to the Columbus Fair with her family. I was even getting comfortable with sex… why is she doing this? Why is she doing this to me? _

With the hand that’s on her waist, Finn pulls her closer to him… so close that their pelvises are crushed against each other and I’ve officially had enough.

Even though my legs feel wobbly and like they can’t support me, I start by taking two steps backwards, my fingers still holding the edge of the door so it doesn’t close. Then I blink a few times because honestly, I still think I might have walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone. I blink five or so times, just hoping that when I open my eyes the next time, they’ll both just be singing like they were five seconds ago and this kiss will all be just a figment of my imagination.

But my eyes aren’t deceiving me. I’m not in The Twilight Zone. This is very, very real. And I am very, very nauseous.

Shaking my head like I’m trying to clear the memory from my mind or something, I keep backing out of the room until my heels touch the carpet. And that’s when I finally let the door go and let it slam shut so hard that she will definitely know _ someone _saw them.

_I need a bathroom. I really feel like I have to throw up and I don’t want to do it all over this fancy red carpet. I really need a bathroom, where’s a bathroom? I can’t remember where I saw one. There’s one in the dressing room but I can’t go back in there and face everyone. They’ll be asking me what’s wrong and asking me to tell them what happened and I can’t. How do I tell them I just saw my girlfriend cheating on me? How do I tell them that Rachel and Finn broke my heart and are probably getting back together?_

I don’t know where I’m going, but I know that I want to get far away from that rehearsal room, so I just walk. I walk as fast as I can run without looking like an idiot in these hallways. I walk past the open door to our dressing room, knowing that someone is going to see me and probably come looking for me, but I don’t care. I just keep walking because sooner or later, I’ll have to reach a bathroom.

“Oh no…” I hear her voice. It’s faint because it’s about ten feet up the hallway, but it’s definitely her voice. And there was a time when her voice was my favorite thing in the world to hear, but now it just makes me feel like I need to throw up even more. “Quinn!”

I hear her footsteps following me — _ running _towards me — which makes me run from her. I don’t want to see her right now. I just can’t see her right now. I can’t look at her right now because if I look at her right now, I’m pretty sure that I’ll end up hating her and Rachel isn’t someone that I want to hate. I’m just so mixed up and filled with every single negative emotion possible right now and if I look at her… if I look at her, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know if I’ll slap her or if I’ll punch her or if I’ll push her or if I’ll just look at her and cry. I just don’t know.

“Quinn, wait!” She yells after me and her footsteps stop. I know Rachel well enough to know that she only stopped so she could take her heels off so she can run after me easier.

But the joke’s on her, because I’m too far ahead and she can’t keep up. And she’s still around the corner when I bank a right and finally find the entrance to a bathroom.

I run into the nearest empty stall as soon as I’m in the bathroom and lock myself inside it. The bathroom seems really fancy and clean and it doesn’t smell like a bathroom, which makes it easier for me to feel okay about sitting on the floor. I mean, I probably would have just sat on the floor anyway, even if it was dirty or smelly. But the fact that it’s not is just a bonus.

I can’t stand up and cry. My dad would kill me right now if he could see me sitting down and crying instead of crying standing up, but it hurts too much to stand up. It really, really hurts. It finally sets in when my butt is on the cold tile floor. I pull my knees up into my chest and rest my forehead on them so I can just cry.

_ She kissed him. I saw it. It wasn’t him that initiated it. It wasn’t like he just swooped in to kiss her and she had no defense. It was her. She raised up. She tilted her head. She made their lips touch. She chose to kiss him. How could she do that to me…?_

_ I knew they shouldn’t have been alone together. I knew when she asked Mr. Schue if she and Finn could rehearse privately and away from the chaos that I should have stepped in. I knew it. I just didn’t want to seem like I was intruding on her space. I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t trust her. I didn’t want her to get mad at me. So I let them go alone. I knew I shouldn’t have. I just knew it._

Maybe it’s just my anxiety, but my mind starts running rampant just thinking about all the things that might have been happening if I came in a few minutes later…

_ I don’t think that Rachel would sleep with him… I mean, it would’ve been really easy to do it if she wanted to. They were all alone in that big rehearsal room. It was relatively soundproof. The door locked from the inside, but neither one of them were smart enough to figure that out. And yeah, there were a bunch of really grand windows that people could see through, but we’re on the second floor so really, how much could they have seen?_

_ He could have had her propped up, sitting against the windowsill. Her underwear could have been down, hanging off one of her ankles. He could have been standing in front of her, making her moan the same way I do and his lips could have been kissing her neck. I could have been watching her head tilting back in the throes of ecstasy and looking at the way her fingernails dug into his back…_

_ I don’t think Rachel would sleep with him. But then again… I didn’t think she’d kiss him either._

I can’t remember the last time I cried this hard. Maybe it was whenever they took Beth out of my arms at the hospital, but I’m not sure. There might have been a time more recent than that, but that’s not the point. The point is that I feel physically sick and I can’t catch my breath because I’m crying too hard. I’m _ really _crying. My shoulders are gyrating up and down, I’m dry heaving, there’s no sound coming out of me, there’s snot on my face, tears mixed in with the snot, I’m gross, and my head is starting to feel like I’m banging it off a wall.

_ Why would she do that? I just want to know why… does she not love me? She’s been saying it but she can’t possibly mean it. Does she want to be back with him?_

“Quinn?” Her voice is followed by footsteps and suddenly, I stop crying all at once. 

It’s like I don’t want her to know I’m in here but I can’t move off the floor and I’m pretty sure we’re the only team wearing red dresses so if she looks underneath the stall and sees a red dress, she’ll know it’s me. But I’m not coming out. I refuse to come out. And she can try to climb underneath this stall to get to me, but I’m so mixed with every emotion that I _ will _kick her if she does that. If she knew what was best for herself, she would just leave me alone.

“Quinn, I know you’re in there. Okay? And I just want to talk to you. Can you come out?” _ She doesn’t even sound remorseful… no I can’t come out._

Instead of answering her verbally, I just sniff really loud so she knows I’ve been crying and stay right where I’m sitting.

“...Alright, I’m coming in.” She walks over to my stall and pulls on the handle. _ Did she really think I was stupid enough to leave it unlocked? _She sighs hard when she realizes it won’t open. “Quinn, please. Please come out. Please.”

_ Why should I? So you can sit there and try to make excuses for what you did? So you can tell me how much you love me only to kiss him again the next time you’re left alone with him? So you can tell me that I’m crazy? And that you only have eyes for me? So you can make up some bullshit excuse as to why you did it? So you can get mad at me for spying on you? Why should I come out? Why should I have anything to do with you?_

“I’m sorry. I’m SO sorry, but it didn’t mean anything… you hear me? It didn’t mean anything, I swear. I don’t… I don’t know why I did it, but you have to believe me. Please. Please, Quinn. Please. I’m begging you. You have to believe me and you can’t be mad at me. You can’t be mad at me, I’ll… I don’t know what I’ll do. You have to forgive me. Please just come out so we can talk. Please.”

She still doesn’t sound remorseful. She mostly just sounds like she’s trying to plead her case and I’m not interested in hearing it. I’m not interested in hearing why she thought it would be okay to kiss him because I know for a fact that she wouldn’t have told me about it. I know that for a fact. If I had never walked in and saw them kissing, I just wouldn’t have known about it. She would not have told me and I know she wouldn’t have. So why should I listen to anything she has to say? I’ve been good to her. Maybe not the best because I’m still working my shit out, but I’ve never even so much as _ looked _at someone else since we’ve been together. Why can’t she just leave Finn alone? Why is it so hard? WHY IS HE CONSTANTLY AN ISSUE FOR US?

“You’re gonna have to talk to me sooner or later.” She kneels down on the floor beside my stall and puts her hand underneath the door, palmside up like she’s asking me to hold it. “Just please let me explain, okay? Just please listen. Are you listening?”

I just stare at her hand and there’s a small part of me contemplating on smashing it with my fist. I could punch her hand right now until her knuckle smashes into the floor and possibly breaks. She’s lucky that there’s still some stupid, idiotic, moronic piece of me that is still so in love with her…

“I got carried away. I got swept up in the performance aspect and the emotion in the song and I had a lapse of judgment. Okay? That’s all it was, it was nothing. It meant nothing. I got so wrapped up in performing and acting out the part of being his lover and I just don’t know what happened. I don’t know what happened. I just got carried away. That’s all. I got carried away.”

_ You got carried away?! That’s the excuse you’re going with?! Wow, Rachel. Wow. Thanks for the truth but really, you could have done better than that. You still have feelings for him and if you would just admit that, I swear I would respect you a little more. You just keep telling me stupid shit like he means nothing to you and I’m the one you love but it’s clearly not true. If he meant nothing to you then your mind wouldn’t have even gone there with him. He means something. Stop saying he means nothing. Stop lying to me._

“We’re gonna be okay, right?” She scoots her hand underneath the stall a little more like she’s still waiting for me to hold it. “This is all gonna blow over and you and me… we’re gonna be okay. I don’t know how I’ll be able to take it if you’re mad at me, Quinn. You’re the one person I…” _ Finally, she sounds like she’s showing some kind of remorse. _Her voice cracks and she has to stop talking for a minute. “I won’t be okay without you. Please tell me we’ll be okay. You’re the one person I need.”

I look down at her outstretched hand again and that same stupid, idiotic, moronic piece of me that still loves her really wants to put my hand inside of hers and tell her that it’s okay and I understand and I’ll just accept her cheating on me with Finn because I love her so much! But it’s a good thing I’m not a stupid, idiotic, moronic person (most of the time). Because the bigger part of me is still disgusted at the fact that she even expects me to hold her hand after doing what she did.

So even though it hurts to not listen to the part of me that wants to forgive her, I need her to know that it’s not okay. It’s not okay and she is wrong and I am crushed.

So I reach behind my neck and unclasp the “R” necklace that she got me for my birthday. I unclasp it and lay it into her outstretched palm. And as soon as she pulls her hand from underneath the stall to see what it is that I put inside it, she makes a noise that is a cross between a groan and a gasp.

And she starts crying the way you cry when you’re young, you know?

It’s like how whenever you’re a toddler and you start crying. There’s that one starting cry initially. You make that sobbing noise and then you stop, not because you’re done crying but because you’re sucking in a breath to gear up for the next round? That’s how Rachel starts crying. It’s hard and it’s loud and it’s a sob more than anything and it makes something inside of me snap. And I almost open up the stall to comfort her, I really do. But then I can’t stop thinking about how I saw her kissing him and I just… I can’t forgive her for that. Not whenever she insisted that things were over between them. I know I just hurt her and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to make her cry so hard. But she hurt me too…

_I was gonna propose to her on the bus ride home. Not like a marriage proposal or anything, that’s insane. We’re only seventeen and that’s absolute insanity. I was going to propose to her about the winter formal on the bus ride home. I was going to wait until Tuesday and do it in school, during Glee club so everyone could see how cute and cheesy my proposal is. But after last night… I just felt like I loved her on a totally different level. I felt connected to her deep within my soul and I just couldn’t wait. Because like Dad said back in the store, when you have a woman like that, you don’t want to let her go. I thought Rachel was my woman. I thought she was my one good thing, the thing I was absolutely sure about. I was so in love with her last night that I knew I just couldn’t wait._

_ I was gonna wait until after we stopped for food. Apparently Mr. Schue went to Pittsburgh a few years ago to watch the Bengals play the Steelers and while he was here, he ate a sandwich at this one place and he really wants to take us there because he said it was the best sandwich he’s ever eaten. So after we stopped for lunch and our bellies were full, I knew that Rachel would be ready to go to sleep because she didn’t get much sleep. But I was going to have a surprise. I was going to pull up the receipt on my phone and let her read it because the actual certificate and the picture won’t be here in the mail until Monday. And her face was going to light up when she read the receipt and saw that I bought her a star. She was going to cry tears of joy when I told her that there is now a star up in the sky named Rachel Berry. She was going to cry when she heard that I bought a star and named it after her and I was going to give this big stupid speech about how I bought the star because she IS a star and the brightest star in my galaxy and then I was going to ask her if she’d shine bright at winter formal with me and it was going to be really cheesy and really corny and really stupid and really cute and she was going to love it and now… I pulled out all the cheesiest parts of my personality for her and now…_

Why did she have to go and kiss Finn?

* * *

** _“Shut up and put your money where your mouth is, that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas!”_**

Vocal Adrenaline is on the last chorus of their last song and that means that it’s almost our turn and I know I should be nervous about that, but I’m really not. I’m not really thinking about anything other than how badly I want to go home and hide in my bed until I die. I don’t want to perform. I don’t want to go out there on stage and listen to Rachel and Finn sing that godforsaken song and watch him look at her in that godforsaken way. I don’t want to go out there and shake my ass for a stupid circus themed performance that nobody’s going to remember, and I don’t want to go out there and contribute to us losing.

Because we’re _ going to lose _, that’s a fact. I don’t care how good we perform, I don’t care how powerful Mercedes’ solo is and I don’t care how moving Rachel and Finn’s duet is. Hell, we could get an actual tiger and actual circus people and I still don’t think we’d stand a chance. Vocal Adrenaline’s performance is show choir magic and while we do have our own little props and really great choreography, they are still 100% unmatched by us. Their Katy Perry tribute is pure gold.

They opened the show up with all of their girls on stage wearing daisy dukes and singing “California Gurls” and the judges instantly loved them but it really threw them over the top when the boys came out to line up for the next song and they threw beach balls into the audience. When the boys came out, their transition into “Hot N Cold” was so smooth but what really blew me (and everyone else, I think) away was how they managed to mix a really pretty ballad like “Unconditionally” in with such an upbeat song like “Hot N Cold.” It was amazing, really. We can’t touch them. We’re going to lose and I can’t say that I’m upset about it. I kind of want to lose, in way. Because at least if we lose, Glee club stops becoming mandatory since we’re not going to nationals anyway. And I don’t have to see Rachel and Finn in Glee club anymore if we don’t go to nationals.

** _“Get up and shake the glitter off your clothes now, that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas!”_ **

I poke my head around the curtain to see if I can watch the last few seconds of their performance because I have a feeling they have glitter. I just know they have glitter. It wouldn’t be a Vocal Adrenaline performance if they said “shake the glitter” without actually having glitter, so I’m just curious now. I think I might go download “Waking Up In Vegas” when I get on the bus. I forgot how much I liked that song.

“You good?” I feel a hand rest in the middle of my back, which pulls me out of the trance Vocal Adrenaline put me in. It’s only Santana checking on me and I kind of wish she hadn’t nexuses watching Vocal Adrenaline was the first time in 45 minutes when I wasn’t thinking about how bad my heart hurts. I wish she’d have just let me watch.

She and Mercedes had to come get me out of the bathroom. Rachel sat beside my stall and begged me to come out a few more times after I made her cry by handing her the necklace. She cried so hard that she started coughing and I really did almost come out but in a way, I couldn’t because I was sort of… embarrassed, I guess? I don’t know. She just cried and cried and begged me and said “Don’t do this. Please, Quinn. You can’t break up with me.” I didn’t say anything back to her because I didn’t know what I could say. She just cried her eyes out and eventually asked me if I still loved her and I said nothing to that either. Obviously the answer is yes, but I just couldn’t say that for some reason.

Mercedes, Tina and Santana found us. They came looking because Mr. Schue wanted us to line up so we could walk to the auditorium together. When they came in, Rachel just cried to them and kept saying “she doesn’t love me anymore” over and over and eventually Tina got her up off the floor, convinced her to channel her feelings into the performance and walked her out of the bathroom. Mercedes tried to talk me out of the stall but I wouldn’t budge. For starters, I still felt sick and I thought that if I got up, I would puke all over myself. But I also just didn’t want to perform after that. I just didn’t have the performance in me.

Mercedes left to go tell Mr. Schue that I wasn’t coming out of the bathroom, so Santana stepped in. She asked me what was wrong and for some reason, I felt okay enough to tell her. Because I felt like Santana might understand how I felt, and she did. She told me all about how she used to feel when she’d watch Brittany kiss Artie and how she currently feels knowing that Brittany still misses her relationship with Artie. It’s honestly a blur after that and I’m starting to get scared because that’s how it was before I overdosed.

The week leading up to my overdose, I got really depressed over Beth and I noticed that I was starting to forget things that happened days and even hours before I needed to remember them. I was in the middle of the steps and I suddenly couldn’t remember what I was going down them for. I would sit on the couch and watch episode after episode of Law & Order: SVU and couldn’t remember what happened in the episode I watched previously.

How Santana got me out of the bathroom is a very big blur of nothing and I wonder if maybe I’m sinking into a depression again because I can’t remember.

“I’m fine.” I finally answer Santana’s question after a few moments because… well… I forgot that she even asked me a question to be honest.

“Okay,” she pats my back twice. “We’re gonna go out here and kill it. Okay?”

“Kay.”

“Forget all about it for the ten minutes we’re on stage. It’s all secondary. Go out there and have fun. Got it?”

“I got it, Santana.” I sigh and take a deep breath. _ I hope I can remember my steps on stage..._

** _“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, prepare to be amazed! Welcome to the stage… From William McKinley High School in Lima, Ohio, the New Directions!”_**

The announcer says our names over the sound system and I hate to admit it, but Mr. Schue was right. It was his bright idea to have the announcer say the “ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls…” part while introducing us. He thought that it would really speak to the circus theme we’re going for and I thought the idea was stupid and corny at first. But it was actually really cool because no other team got a special introduction like that and maybe that’ll be enough for us to edge out Vocal Adrenaline. _ Maybe I don’t want to lose…_

_ On the first eight count, we’re supposed to start chanting our “woah” part. This is one of the parts we kept messing up in practice. Everyone starts screaming “woah” at different times and it messes everything up._

The way this number starts is a little bit different. Nobody starts out on stage at first. We actually start chanting from backstage and Artie wheels himself out while we’re chanting. It’s supposed to look really cool but I just hope we can execute it properly.

_ On the first eight count, we’re supposed to start chanting our “woah” part. This is one of the parts we kept messing up in practice. Everyone starts screaming “woah” at different times and it messes everything up. Five, six, seven, eight._

** _“Woah!” _ ** _ So far so good… first woah good. Everyone is together, Artie didn’t miss his cue, he’s wheeling himself out. _ ** _“Woah!” _ ** _ Second woah good too. Artie’s almost center stage. Three woahs are supposed to do it. He’s supposed to be in the center by the third woah. _ ** _“Woah!” _ ** _ Third woah great. Everyone’s all together, Artie is in the center!_

When the spotlight comes on, it shines a light down on Artie, who’s the only one on stage right now. The big black tophat that Mr. Schue decided to make him wear looks really great. He totally looks like the ringleader.

** _“Ladies and gents this the moment you’ve waited for.” _ **Artie starts singing in his really low, gravelly voice and I’m finally excited… I’m actually excited. We’re gonna kill this. We got this.

** _“Woah!” _ ** _ Fourth woah, we’re good. _So Artie continues.

** _“Been searchin’ in the dark, your sweat soakin’ through the floor.” _ **He wheels himself to the very front of the stage and that’s the cue for Finn, Puck and Sam to come out now.

** _“Woah!” _ **Fifth woah from the wings goes off without a hitch.

** _“And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can’t ignore. Takin’ your breath, stealin’ your mind, and all that was real is left behind…” _ **Artie has the crowd in his hands like putty. I just hope the other boys can pick it up like him.

The lights on the stage come on, but they’re red like Mr. Schue wanted them to be so it’s still kind of dark and giving that creepy vibe that he was going for at first.

** _“Don’t fight it, it’s comin’ for you, runnin’ at ya. It’s only this moment, don’t care what comes after. Your fever dream, can’t you see it’s gettin’ closer. Just surrender ‘cause you feel the feelin’ takin’ over!” _ **Puck picks up with the same low kind of voice that Artie started out with and he sounded good. Okay. I’ll give him that.

** _“It’s fire, it’s freedom, it’s floodin’ open! It’s a preacher in the pulpit and your blind devotion!” _ **Finn’s voice is a little higher than they’ve been singing now and I want to hate him but he does sound really good… maybe I can just cheer for him as my teammate.

** _“There’s somethin’ breakin’ at the brick of every wall. It’s holdin’ all that you know…” _ ** Sam picks up where Finn left off and the transition was seamless. _ Good job boys._

_ Now it’s our turn. As soon as the boys come together and say “go”, the stage is going to be flooded with all of us and it’s going to light up with multicolored lights and it’s going to be so magical. I kind of want to watch it from the audience._

All four boys stand in the center of the stage and I take a deep breath because I know it’s coming…

** _“So tell me do you wanna go?!” _ **The four of them sing in unison and that’s it. That’s our cue.

I follow Sugar out since she’s in front of me, but I’m supposed to come out with Mercedes since she’s on the opposite side of the stage. We’re supposed to flood out in couples, so the second I go, Mercedes has to go. And she doesn’t miss her mark, so we’re all good! We’re correcting so many of our mistakes from practice!

**_“Where it’s covered in all the colored lights! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night! Impossible comes true, it’s takin’ over you!” _ ** As soon as we’re on stage all singing the chorus together as the colorful lights literally illuminate the entire performance hall, the crowd goes absolutely insane. Some people even stand up and clap for us! ** _“Oh! This is the greatest show!”_**

Ringleader Artie is back in the center of the stage again with his arms in the air like he’s presenting us to the audience, and Mike does a really cool toe-touch jump over his chair… which makes the crowd go wild again. And I don’t know how he does it because he was even nailing it in practice and not getting tired, but somehow Mike pulls it off again. As he jumps over Artie’s chair, he manages to grab the black tophat off Artie’s head and puts it on his own head just as he lands on his feet. Mr. Schue says the hat is supposed to signify the passing of the torch, so it’s like Mike is our new ringleader. Which just means that he has a featured part like Artie.

** _“It’s everything you ever want!” _ ** Mike’s part includes him walking the entire length of the stage with his knees up, pretending like he’s twirling a baton. And when he walks, we all follow him like we’re marching in a parade and he’s leading us. I follow Santana down off the risers as our parade follows Mike all around the stage. ** _“It’s everything you ever need! And it’s here right in front of you! This is where you wanna be! It’s everything you ever want! It’s everything you ever need! It’s here right in front of you! This is where you wanna be! This is where you wanna be!”_**

Right as it should be, Mercedes ends up at the center as Mike’s parade makes it’s full trip around the stage. That’s another part we were messing up at practice. Now matter how fast or how slow we walked, Mercedes would always end up off to the left of the stage instead of the middle by the time it was time for her to sing her run. This time, our timing is impeccable. Mercedes is in the center and we all take our places crowded around her for the next part we have to clap our hands and sing to.

** _“This is where you wanna be!” _ **Mercedes nails her run like I knew she would.

_ On the count of one, we’re supposed to start stomping and clapping to the beat. We kept messing up in rehearsal. We’ll get it right this time. Five, six, seven, eight. One…_

** _“Where it’s covered in all the colored lights! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night! Impossible comes true, it’s takin’ over you! Oh, this is the greatest show!” _ ** We all clap in rhythm with each other and it is honestly the best performance we’ve ever done because even the crowd starts clapping in tune with us and it’s such an amazing feeling. ** _“We light it up, we won’t come down. And the sun can’t stop us now. Watchin’ it come true, it’s takin’ over you. This is the greatest show!”_**

This next part is the worst part of this entire song and I’m not kidding. I know it’s supposed to help transition into the next song but I think it’s a bunch of bullshit and I’d rather gouge out my own eyeballs and shove scissors in my ears than watch it and listen to it.

...Rachel and Finn are linked arm-in-arm and they make their way to the front of the stage to do the random stupid runs at the end of the song.

** _“Everything you want is right in front of you.” _ ** They sing in perfect harmony and I would really like to rip everything off these fucking walls and knock all this shit over on the stage. ** _“And you see the impossible is comin’ true. And the walls can’t stop us now…”_**

Whatever, I don’t have time to dwell on it because we all have to line up. We’re all supposed to line up in a straight line and join hands. I’m always between Lauren and Blaine, so I make it to my mark and grab their hands as we all sing the last parts.

** _“This is the greatest show! Oh! This is the greatest show! Oh! This is the greatest show! Oh!”_**

Ringleader Mike with the tophat pushes Artie to the front of the stage again and puts the hat back on his head, which makes some members of the audience laugh a little. Artie puts his hands up again like he’s presenting us to the audience once more.

**“** ** _This is the greatest show!” _ **As he sings the last note, we all lock hands and take a bow. And I don’t think there’s anyone in this performance hall right now that isn’t on their feet…

The lights go out so everyone except Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater and Mr. I-Can’t-Get-My-Own-Girlfriend can get off the stage and back into the wings. When the lights go out, it seems like everyone cheers even louder for some reason and I can’t wait for them to hear Mercedes sing her solo because she is going to blow everyone away.

The lights on the stage turn to a very soft purple and I think now would be a good time for a bathroom break for the audience. This is the worst performance we’ve got, nobody has to watch.

** _“You know I want you… it’s not a secret I try to hide.” _ ** Finn starts singing first and I think he sounds like shit. ** _“I know you want me. So don’t keep saying our hands are tied.”_**

He starts walking to the opposite side of the stage, where Rachel is standing. ** _“You claim it’s not in the cards, fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me. But you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?”_**

_ He’s singing this to her. I can tell… I can see it in his eyes…_

** _“What if we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine. Nothing could keep us apart. You’d be the one I was meant to find. It’s up to you and it’s up to me. No one can say what we get to be. So why don’t we rewrite the stars? Maybe the world could be ours tonight.” _ ** _ He sounds really good… I can’t even deny it…_

The purple spotlight switches over to Rachel and she looks so pretty and why’d she have to cheat on me? Why did she do that? Why…? I know I said I was going to stop crying over it but I can’t help it. I want to cry again because why did she hurt me? I would never hurt her…

** _“You think it’s easy… you think I don’t want to run to you.” _ ** She starts singing and her voice is just so angelic… why’d she cheat? I love her so much… ** _“But there are mountains. And there are doors there we can’t walk through. I know you’re wondering why, because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls but when we go outside, you’re gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all…” _**

_ Okay, maybe Finn was singing to her a second ago but this is a song for me and Rachel. This is a song for us. It was literally written for us, can’t you hear it? This is me and her… why does he get to sing it to her? And why did she kiss him?_

** _“No one can rewrite the stars. How can you say you’ll be mine?” _ ** She sounds so much better than him.. so much better. ** _“Everything keeps us apart and I’m not the one you were meant to find. It’s not up to you. It’s not up to me. When everyone tells us what we can be. How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours tonight…”_**

Their chemistry on stage is undeniable. They’re in love with each other, I swear I can see it. They’re so close to each other and he leans forward and she leans back. They walk around in a circle, staring each other into their souls and I really hate this. This is torture. Why do I have to watch this?

** _“All I want is to fly with you. All I want is to fall with you.” _ ** They sing together and sound so good… ** _“So just give me all of you.”_**

** _“It feels impossible.” _ **Rachel’s sings her part and pulls away from Finn just like in rehearsal.

** _“It’s not impossible.” _ **Finn grabs her hand like in rehearsal too.

** _“Say that it’s possible…” _ ** They sing together again and that’s when my tears officially fall… ** _“How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine? Nothing can keep us apart. ‘Cause you are the one I was meant to find. It’s up to you, and it’s up to me. No one can say what we get to be. And why don’t we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be ours…”_**

The music slows way down and it gets really quiet as Finn approaches her and puts his hand on her cheek like he did in that rehearsal room. ** _“You know I want you… it’s not a secret I try to hide.”_**

** _“But I can't have you… we’re bound to break and my hands are tied.” _ **I wince as she sings the last notes because I’m halfway expecting them to kiss again…

But they don’t, which I kind of knew they wouldn’t. What I didn’t expect is for Rachel to back away from him so quickly. As soon as the crowd starts clapping, she backs away from him and she really surprises me when she looks in the wings… at me.

And she mouths the words “I love you.” 

But how can I say it back to her when I just had to watch that and I know he loves her too? And I think she loves him too, maybe more than me, and I can’t compete with that… they have history… so instead of saying it back, I just turn away from her and try to put her out of my head.

Mercedes’ solo music starts even before Rachel and Finn are off stage and I really just want to go home. I want to go home and get in bed and just cry.

I think singing that song with him made her realize that she loves him and I can’t handle that. I can’t compete with Finn… I’ll lose. I’ll lose because they have history and he’s a boy and she wasn’t even sure she was gay until she met me and maybe she’s not. Maybe she was just confused and this was all just a big mistake. She’s not actually gay and she wants to be back with Finn. She thought she loved me because I was finally being nice to her. I bullied her and I was finally nice and she mistook that for love. She doesn’t love me. She never has.

I wish we didn’t have to go on stage for Mercedes’ solo. I want to go somewhere and just cry. I want to throw up and then I want to cry. I know I was angry before but now I’m just sad… I really thought we were going to be happy and make it work. I really thought I found love…

** _“I am not a stranger to the dark…” _ ** Mercedes starts singing as she holds onto the microphone stand in the middle of the stage. ** _“Hide away, they say. ‘Cause we don’t want your broken parts. I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars. Run away, they say. No one will love you as you are…”_**

** _“But I won’t let them break me down to dust. I know that there’s a place for us. For, we are glorious…” _ ** _ I’m sorry I can’t cheer for you and pay attention right now, ‘Cedes. You’re my sister and I love you but I’m just so upset… _

**_“When the sharpest words wanna cut me down… I’m gonna send a flood, gonna down them out. I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I’m meant to be. This is me.” _ ** _ She sounds beautiful, for what it’s worth. _ ** _“Look out, ‘cause here I come. And I’m marching on to the beat I drum. I’m not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me.”_**

We’re supposed to be singing the “ohhs” from backstage but I can’t. I can’t even bring myself to open my mouth, let alone sing…

** _“Another round of bullets hits my skin.” _ ** I’m still watching her even though I couldn’t sing her backups and she’s doing really well. She’s getting really into it. She’s kind of owning the stage like a badass when the music speeds up, actually. ** _“We’ll fire away, ‘cause today I won’t let the shame sink in. We are bursting through the barricades and reaching for the sun.”_**

We’re supposed to sing “we are warriors” from backstage but again… I can’t.

** _“Yeah, that’s what we’ve become!” _ ** I’ll tell her when we get home later that she did amazing. I just need to go somewhere and be alone right now… ** _“I won’t let them break me down to dust. I know that there’s a place for us. For, we are glorious!”_**

“Where do you think you’re going?” Santana stops me when she notices me trying to leave. “We’re going out there in like, two seconds. Come on, Quinn. Get your head out of your ass. You can do this, remember?”

“I’m sorry Santana, but I can’t…” I shake my head and my voice cracks. “That was…_ awful _, how am I supposed to watch that…?”

“No one’s saying you can’t break down, Q. I know that was probably really hard to watch and I know it sucked. I know it did. But the team needs you. This could be our last time performing this year and you will never forgive yourself if you don’t go out there. If you’re not gonna do it for us, at least do it for Mercedes.” She says and I don’t know what it is about Santana, but something about her just puts me in check. She’s right. The team needs me and Mercedes will definitely notice if I’m not there.

** _“And I know that I deserve your love…” _ ** Mercedes is really killing it. But this is the part where she messed up in practice and got the solo taken away… ** _“There’s nothing I’m not worthy of!” _ **She freaking nailed it! That’s my sister! And this is HER solo!

Even the crowd knows she killed it, because I hear a bunch of whistling and clapping for that one part.

** _“When the sharpest words wanna cut me down…” _ ** She starts her last chorus alone and this is whenever we need to get ready to go out. ** _“I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out. This is brave, this is bruised, this is who I’m meant to be… this is me.”_**

Santana grabs my hand and drags me out with her when it’s our time to go out and it’s a good thing that we’re in the back where nobody will notice me. I still can’t bring myself to open my mouth and sing, but I am able to at least do the dance moves with everyone else while they chant the last chorus.

** _“When the sharpest words wanna cut me down! Send a flood and drown them out! Send a flood and drown them out! Gonna send a flood! Gonna drown them out!” _ **Everyone chants except me.

** _“Oh… this is me!” _ **Mercedes ends the song on a high note and once again, everyone in this building is up on their feet.

I look out into the crowd at all the people who loved us and all the people who — _ wait is that MOM AND DAD?! _ I have to squint my eyes to be sure. _ IT IS! IT IS THEM! THIS IS WHERE THEY WERE DRIVING TO THIS MORNING WHEN THEY SAID THEY COULDN’T TALK LONG! THEY CAME! THEY CAME TO SEE MERCEDES SING HER SOLO! THEY CAME TO WATCH ME STAND IN THE BACKGROUND! MOM AND DAD ARE HERE! THEYRE HERE! THEY DROVE FOUR HOURS AWAY JUST TO BE SUPPORTIVE! AND MERCEDES SEES THEM TOO! I KNOW SHE DOES BECAUSE SHE'S CRYING! THEY CAME! AND THEY HAVE FLOWERS! DAD HAS RED ROSES AND MOM HAS YELLOW ONES! THEY BROUGHT US FLOWERS! THEY CAME TO WATCH US! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! MY OTHER MOM AND DAD… THEY WOULD NEVER!_

_ Oh my god… I have parents who drive four hours away to watch a stupid show choir competition… I’m shocked. I’m super shocked. And I should be happy… I should be happy about that. And I am. I am happy that I have parents who come to support me now._

_ But that happiness goes away when I notice Rachel looking at me again. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you guys aren’t too mad at me and I hope you understand why Rachel did what she did. It’s not in character for the Rachel in love with Quinn to cheat, but I’d argue that kissing Finn is totally in character for Rachel the performer. I promise there is rationalization coming up in about chapter 63 or 64, when we get inside Rachel’s head and figure out why she kissed Finn. There’s no excuses coming. Just rationalization and I promise everyone will understand why she did what she did as a stage brat who does anything for the sake of drama and adding to her performances.
> 
> And as always, I highly recommend listening to the songs they sung at regionals because you’ll be able to imagine the story better when I describe certain parts of the songs and also, they’re just really good songs. Lol. They’re all from The Greatest Showman soundtrack and they are “The Greatest Show”, “Rewrite The Stars” and “This Is Me.”


	61. Weightless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know last chapter was a bit of a bombshell and it might have turned a lot of you off from the story, but please just try to trust my journey and don’t forget that this is a Faberry story so of course Rachel & Quinn are going to be messy, but they do love each other hard and a lot. I promise the next few chapters are going to be a whirlwind and as this story winds down in the next few weeks, all the loose ends will be tied up and you guys will have a very satisfying ending. I promise.
> 
> Next chapter (chapter 62) might not be up for a few days, depending on how much time I have to write when I get off work tomorrow. It is the biggest chapter of the entire story and a really emotional and action packed one, so it might take a bit longer for me to actually write it. It might be up tomorrow, it might be up the day after or the day after. Fingers crossed that it’s up tomorrow because I’m really excited for you guys to read it.
> 
> And lastly, I usually like to comment back and talk to everyone who leaves me a comment because I really think of some of my readers as like my friends and I love to interact and get to know you. I know I’ve been slacking on that lately and I apologize, but I will reply to each and every single one of you eventually. I’m just writing like crazy right now to get to chapter 62.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter! It’s kind of crazy!

* * *

* * *

_ December 8 _

_ I slept for sixteen hours today. _

_ Me and Mercedes got home yesterday around 9:30 at night and Mom and Dad picked us up from the school. Really, all I wanted to do was put on my pajamas and lie in my bed as soon as we got home. I was tired and supposed to sleep on the five hour bus ride, but my mind was full thinking about Rachel and my stomach was empty because I didn’t touch the sandwich I got at that place called Primanti Bros. that Mr. Schue took us to. My stomach was empty and my mind was full and even though I tried to sleep the entire ride home, I just couldn’t fall asleep like that. _

_ As soon as we walked through the door, Mom insisted that we eat what she made for dinner because she made it special for us. Even though I really didn’t want to, I sat the kitchen table and listened while they talked. Mom stood at the stove, heating up the cheddar and broccoli soup she made and grilling turkey and cheese sandwiches on the griddle. It was 10:00 at night, yet I was sitting around the table eating soup and sandwiches with my family and for a minute, I was happy. I dipped my sandwich in my soup and laughed when Mom told us how much she was singing along to Aural Intensity’s Hamilton songs. Everything was good for a minute. Everything inside of me was calm. _

_ Mom told me and Mercedes to go up to bed while she cleaned the kitchen and as soon as I got up from the table, I remembered that I was sad again. I went up to my bedroom and put on a t-shirt. I had planned on taking a shower and washing all my stage makeup off and all the sweat from performing, but the thought of standing underneath the shower spray really exhausted me. I crawled into bed, pulled my blanket up to my neck, and closed my eyes. _

_ But my mind wouldn’t let me sleep. My mind kept telling me to think about Rachel and imagine that I was back in that performance room, watching her lips glide against Finn’s. And I started crying. One of those cries you only ever see in the movies, too. The one where I’m curled up into a fetal position, clutching my pillow to my chest and just crying so hard no sounds come out. _

_ I knew what would make me feel better. _

_ Even though it’s only temporary and only lasts for the five minutes that I’m doing it, I felt so down and miserable and worthless and terrible and meaningless that I just needed something — anything — to make me feel better for just one second. It might have only lasted five minutes but I needed that five minutes. That five minutes was better than the complete hopelessness that was starting to surround me. _

_ I didn’t even have to stick my fingers all the way in my mouth before my stomach wretched and all the soup and sandwich I ate splattered into the toilet. It kind of hurt a little bit when it was coming up, because the chewed up bread kept getting stuck. Bread is one of the worst things to throw up and if I planned on doing a purge, I probably wouldn’t have eaten the sandwich in the first place. I got to a place where all I was throwing up was water, but my stomach still felt really heavy and full so I had to keep going. I started seeing these little black specks in my vision when I threw up the last time, so I just stopped and cleaned the toilet and wiped away the evidence and went to bed. _

_ I felt really worthless again the second I laid back down, but there were those five glorious minutes where I didn’t feel worthless. There were those five glorious minutes where I felt like there was finally something in my life that I could get control over again. Five glorious minutes where something else hurt instead of my heart. _

_ I’m not sure how, but I managed to fall asleep that time. It was 11:30 when I finally fell asleep and I stayed that way; in one position, all night. _

_ I might have slept longer than thirteen hours if Mom hadn’t woken me up. She came into my room this morning and tapped me on my shoulder until my eyes snapped open. She told me it was 12:30 in the afternoon and she was just checking to see if I was okay. I told her I was fine, just a little tired and she asked me if I wanted to come to the store with her and Mercedes because they were going bra shopping. _

_ I started to say no, but I didn’t want Mom to think there’s anything wrong with me because I don’t want to tell her about Rachel. I’m not sure how she’d react, but I’m almost certain that she would stop liking Rachel so much and I don’t know why, but that’s still important to me. I still want Rachel to be liked by my family. _

_ It took everything out of me to get up and get dressed. And when I was in the car as Mom was driving to the mall, I started to regret not just staying in bed. I don’t remember what we did at the mall. I don’t remember what stores we went inside of and I don’t remember if Mom offered to buy me three new pairs of jeans or she just did it on her own free will. All I remember is sitting at the food court and devouring two big slices of pizza, a container of cheese fries and an entire large Mountain Dew. It’s needless to say that I excused myself to the bathroom and got rid of it, and I think that might have been the extra boost I needed to make it through our time at the mall. _

_ I thought about taking a shower when we got back home. I still needed to wash my stage makeup off and just generally bathe myself, but I still couldn’t. I just took my bags of new clothes, went back up to my room, threw the bags in the corner and got back into bed. I fell asleep again. _

_ Around five, Mom came back up to my room and was surprised that I was sleeping again. She woke me up a little more forcefully that time and asked me what the hell was wrong with me. She kept touching my forehead and rubbing my back trying to get me to admit that I wasn’t feeling well, so I finally just went along with it. I told her that my head was hurting and I was starting to feel stuffy and she left me alone for a while. She came back maybe half an hour later with a plate of stuffed peppers and some headache medicine for me to take. She told me to get some rest and call her if I needed anything. _

_ I got rid of the stuffed peppers right after I ate them and they burned when they came up, which kind of felt good. Again, it was like the pain was somewhere else instead of in my chest and I suddenly understood the people who cut themselves as their form of self harm. I laid back down with the intentions of taking another nap and I was able to fall asleep again. _

_ When I woke up an hour later, I had this really bad taste in my mouth and my pillow was red right where my mouth was open and I drooled a little bit. Mom cooks her stuffed peppers in tomato sauce so at first, I thought maybe I had bits of tomato sauce stuck to the corners of my lips and that’s where the red came from, but when I swallowed my throat burned really badly and I tasted that awful metallic taste. The taste of blood. _

_ The blood didn’t scare me as bad as it did that one day I was home alone and called Judy because I was so terrified. In fact, throwing up blood hasn’t been that big of a deal since then. It’s something that just happens from time to time, usually when my nails get so long that they scratch my throat when my fingers go in. All it means is that I have to clip my fingernails. _

_ I forgot to mention that Rachel’s been calling me, and I’ve lost four pounds since regionals. Not sure if it’s the depression or if it’s the fact that I’ve thrown up everything my lips have touched for 24 hours straight, but I’ll take it either way. _

_ Yay. _

* * *

_ December 9 _

_ The scale says that I’m down seven pounds today. Seven pounds since regionals. Seven whole pounds. I forgot how addicting this could be. _

_ I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed today. My alarm went off at 6:30 for school, and I just turned it off, rolled over, and went back to bed. Of course Mom came in to check on me and see why I wasn’t getting up and getting dressed. I told her that my stomach was really sick and I couldn’t move without my head pounding and she really bought into it. She bought into it so much that she rubbed my back, kissed my cheek and told me that I could stay home. _

_ I’ve been in and out of sleep all day. At some point, I thought I had convinced myself to take a shower and brush my teeth because my stage makeup still needs to be washed off, I’m still gross from performing and my teeth haven’t been properly brushed since my throat bled a little. But I tried to get up and again, I just felt no desire to go into the bathroom and even look at myself in the mirror, so I stayed in bed. I haven’t even left to pee. _

_ Mom says that if I don’t feel better by Wednesday, she’s going to make me an appointment to see the doctor and figure out what’s going on with me. She said she thinks I have the stomach flu because she’s noticed how I haven’t been eating much and how I go to the bathroom immediately after I eat whenever I do eat. _

_ I love living with the Joneses and I love my parents to death, but I really hate how much they hover. I wish they would just act like my other parents in some ways. I wish they would just leave me alone all day and let me do my own thing. I wish that I didn’t have to turn on the faucet every time I throw up because I’m scared they’ll catch me. I wish they would just turn a blind eye to me throwing up like Judy would. I wish they would just ignore the fact that I haven’t gotten out of bed all day like Judy would. I wish Mom wouldn’t come in here to check on me every hour like Judy wouldn't. I wish they would all just leave me alone. _

_ Rachel called again today. _

_ I didn’t pick up the phone. _

* * *

_ December 10 _

_ The only reason I got out of bed today was because I see Bailey and I really need to talk to her. _

_ Mom asked me if I was going to school today when she came in to wake me up and at first, I told her that I still wasn’t feeling well and I wanted to stay home again and she allowed me to. But then I remembered that it’s Tuesday and I see Bailey on Tuesdays and I really need her right now, so I got out of bed, put on a pair of my new jeans and a sweater, and told Mom that I had a biology test that I couldn’t miss. _

_ I know it’s not healthy for me to feel this way, but I’ve really just been trying to keep going these last few days for her. I really don’t want to be alive anymore. I really just want to give up, lie down and let this darkness just come and take me away forever. Because I can’t handle things being this goddamn bad anymore. I need something to be right. But I don’t give up. I haven’t given up yet. And that’s because I knew that Tuesday was coming and Tuesday was when I get to talk to the only thing in my life worth living for anymore. _

_ I just want to know when it’s going to be my turn to be happy. I want to know why every time things start to look up, everything falls apart. I want to know if it’s just me or is the universe actually conspiring against me? I want to know when enough suffering is enough. I want to know if I will ever be able to have that normalcy and happiness that everyone else has. _

_ When I got to school today, I felt like everyone was laughing at me or something because they knew that I had gotten my heart broken by Rachel Berry. I don’t know if that’s a realistic assessment or if I’m just paranoid. Nobody said anything, but still. They could have been talking about me and how stupid I was to have even trusted someone like Rachel with my heart to begin with. _

_ When I got to my locker and opened it, there was one single yellow rose and a note with my name on it waiting for me inside it. I didn’t open the note because I recognized Rachel’s handwriting on it. And I threw the flower into the trash because if I keep it and continue to look at it, all it’s going to do is make me spiral out of control and I’m already spiraling, I don’t need any extra help doing it. _

_ I saw her from down the hallway, watching me throw the flower away. She put her hand over her heart as the rose fell into the garbage and I knew by the look on her face that she was going to cry but I couldn’t care. It’s not that I didn’t care about her crying, because I really do care if Rachel cries. But I CAN’T care if Rachel cries right now. Because if I do… then I’ll be weak and do what my heart so desperately wants to do and just take her back and I don’t know if I can even look at her right now. I can’t look at her without feeling like something is crushing me over and over again and I’m not strong enough for that yet. _

_ I think things are getting bad again and I wish I could remember what my first very psychiatrist taught me about coping with bulimia but I can’t. My memory of that entire time is a big blur. Granted, I only had three sessions before Judy pulled me out and decided that she could handle my “spitting up problem” by just throwing away the scales in the house. But there were some skills he taught me in those three sessions and I remember that they really helped me stop bingeing and purging. I really wish I could remember those skills because I think it’s getting a little out of hand. _

_ I mean, don’t get me wrong. I could still stop anytime I want to. All it takes is just one time for me to just say that I’m done throwing up and I can stop at the drop of a hat. The problem is that I don’t want to stop. It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately and all I can wrap my mind around. When I’m not thinking about Rachel, I’m thinking about what I can eat and then throw up. And when I’m not thinking about what I can eat and then throw up, I’m thinking about where I can find a scale to make sure I’m one pound lighter than I was before I ate all the junk I ate. _

_ I think it’s getting out of hand because I needed to weigh myself before lunch, and the only scale in McKinley is in the nurse’s office. I slammed my finger in my locker door on purpose, just so I could go to the nurse and get an ice pack. When she went back to the freezer to get it, I stood on the scale really quickly and felt so much pride and accomplishment in myself when it read 113 pounds. I kept the ice pack through lunch, just so I could have an excuse to weigh myself again when I returned it. I ate eight chicken nuggets at lunch today, twenty tater tots, two containers of applesauce, two cookies, a small bag of Doritos and two iced teas. It was a lot of food and my stomach hurt even after I got rid of all of it, but the scale said 112 when I stepped on it again and it made it all worth it. _

_ The phone is ringing now and I know my study hall teacher is about to tell me that I’m excused from study hall. That means I get to talk to Bailey. _

_ I can’t wait. _

* * *

_ “And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes I fall into your arms, I’ll be safe in your sound ‘til I come back around…” _

The music flows softly from Bailey’s phone on the desk between us and I use the tissue she handed me to dab more of my tears away. I wonder what other breakup songs she’s got… I know it’s making me cry and Bailey doesn’t like it when her sessions make me cry, but it’s therapeutic I think. It doesn’t actually hurt that bad while I’m crying. It actually feels kind of good to listen to sad music, let myself be sad, and cry my eyes out about it.

_ “For now the day bleeds into nightfall and you’re not here to get me through it all. I let my guard down and you pulled the rug. I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved.” _

“You ready to talk about it yet?” She turns the volume on her phone down a little bit and raises her eyebrow at me. “Or you still need a minute to cry it out?”

“I need a minute…” I mumble and grab new tissues. She nods her head and turns the volume back up as a new song starts to play.

She looks really pretty today, by the way. I don’t usually pay that close attention to things about Bailey, aside from what she’s wearing and how her hair is done. But today, focusing on the little things about her is really helping me to not think about Rachel.

_ “I wish it wasn’t 4 a.m., standing in the mirror saying to myself, ‘you know you had to do it’ I know the bravest thing I ever did was run…” _

Her hair is pin straight and parted on the right side, and she doesn’t wear it down very often but she wore it down today and she has side bangs, which I never noticed before. Parts of her hair are tucked behind her ears, which makes them stick out and I notice for the first time that she has small black gauges in her ears. Her eyeshadow is the same light shade of purple that she always wears, but it’s hidden behind her big, black-framed glasses. Her lipstick is a really deep shade of red and it looks like she put a lot of effort into penciling in her eyebrows today.

_ “Sometimes in the middle of the night I can feel you again… and I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man. I know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand. But I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man. A better man.” _

And outfit is really cute today, too. It’s not often she wears short sleeves and when she does, she usually has a jacket on over her arms. But today she doesn’t. She’s wearing a plain black shirt with a deep v-neck and those criss-cross straps across her boobs. Most of it is hidden by the sleeves, but I can see little parts of a black tattoo on her right bicep, and her left arm is covered in a half-sleeve full of tattoos of sugar skulls and roses.

“Alright, Q,” she turns the volume down on her phone again and folds her hands on the table in front of me. “We don’t have a lot of time when I see you in school, so as much as I’d love to sit here and cry with you and listen to depressing shit, I can’t. We have to start.”

“Okay…” I sigh and try to pull myself together.

“So tell me what happened. Start to finish, keep it brief.” She turns the music completely off and gives me her undivided attention.

“Rachel wanted to go and rehearse in private with Finn because… well, we didn’t sleep a lot on the bus. We were all exhausted so Mr. Schuester went out and got us energy drinks and stuff and it made us all really wound up and crazy. And Rachel likes to practice in a serious environment, so she wanted to go somewhere else and practice with Finn. They were gone for forever so I went to go and find them and see what was taking them so long… and I saw her kiss him…”

“Oh no…” Bailey groans and runs her fingers through her hair. “You actually saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“So… who broke up with who? What did you do after you saw them kiss?”

“I just ran away. I went into the bathroom so I could just be alone and process it and cry about it but then she followed me. She followed me and tried to explain so I just gave her the necklace back. So I guess I broke up with her.”

“What excuse did she give you? Why did she say she did it?”

“She claims she just got wrapped up in the performance, I don’t know. She seemed off. Like on the bus, she wasn’t really responsive. We were playing a game and she acted like she didn’t want to play the whole time and kept whining about how she was tired and stuff. She seemed really off, so I don’t know. Maybe there was something else bothering her? But we had a good talk on the bus, she would’ve told me if something else was bothering her, so I don’t know. It’s like… I can see Rachel kissing him just for the sake of the drama because she loves drama. She loves drama and she commits herself to a part and she might’ve been telling the truth. She might have done it because she wanted to get into the moment. But I really don’t think that’s something she would do, Bail... I really don’t. So I don’t know if maybe there was something bothering her or not. I don’t know and I don’t want to hear her out. I don’t want to talk to her right now.”

“Well, it’s still fresh. It’s still a very fresh wound and you’re still hurting, so yeah. Of course you don’t want to talk to her right now and you don’t want to be around her. She hurt you in a really horrible way and it’s normal if you don’t want to face her right now. It’s normal, Q. But you should hear her out eventually. If you’re saying you don’t think that Rachel would do that to you, maybe you need to hear her out.”

“But there’s nothing she can say that’ll make it okay.” I say. “My trust is shot. My faith in her is shot. I don’t even believe that she ever truly loved me… I think… I think I was horrible to her for so long that when I finally started to be nice, she just… mistook it for love. I don’t think she ever loved me. I don’t think she ever got over Finn. And if she’s still in love with him, that’s fine. It’s fine, I don’t expect her to just wake up one day and stop loving someone. I can’t just stop loving her, I don’t expect her to just stop loving him. But I wish she would say that. I wish she’d stop telling me over and over and over that she loves me and only me and Finn isn’t anything to her and blah blah blah… just tell the truth.”

“I agree with you on that.” Bailey nods. “She could tell the truth, I agree. Look, maybe you can take this break from Rachel and really use it to focus on you. Build your relationship with Beth, study for your SATs, research colleges, start thinking about where you want to go… focus on Glee club. I heard you guys got first place again, awesome. Focus on that. You have all these good things around you. You have all these people around you who love you and I know it’s easy to just want to give up —“

“I’m fine, Bail, I just —“

“I know you by now, Q. Don’t say you’re fine. You’re not fine. I could tell you weren’t fine the second you walked through that door, so don’t lie to me. You’re spiraling. You’re spiraling and there’s something wrong with you and if you don’t want to talk to me about it yet, that’s fine. I won’t force it. But whatever it is that you’re not telling me, you better find a way to tell me soon because I don’t like what I’m seeing. You walked into this room today like a little slug. Old makeup, new pimples on your face, jeans and a sweater? That’s not Quinn. That’s not Quinn and I need you to start talking.”

“I just… I don’t know anymore.” I admit and put my head down. It’s like I want to cry again but I have no emotions left inside of me. “I’m starting to think that I don’t deserve happiness. If I did… why is it taking so long to find me?”

“You deserve everything.” She puts her hand against mine. “You deserve everything and I hate hearing you say that you don’t. This is a little blip in the road, okay? Maybe you and Rachel will work it out, maybe you won’t. Right now, you’re just hurting and you’re right to hurt. Cheating is awful. It’s disgusting and it breaks a person down, it really does. But this is just a little roadblock. When you’re older, you won’t be looking back at this moment right here. You’ll be on to bigger and better things. You need to rise above this. I know you really love Rachel and —“

“I _ really _do love her…” I mumble. “I know we’re young, but… it has to be love. It has to be. I think about her every morning when I wake up and every night before I fall asleep. I think about what she’s doing and how she’s feeling. I worry about her more than I worry about myself. I care about her more than I care about myself. If that’s not love then I don’t know what love is.”

“Then it sounds to me like when the dust settles and the wound isn’t as fresh… you have something to fight for.” She squeezes my hand. “I want to do something with you, okay?”

“God, Bail. What do you want now? You already made me cry like a baby.” I do one final wipe on my face and take a deep breath. I knew Bailey would pull my head out of my ass and make me feel better. I knew it. I’m skipping Glee club today. When I get home, I’m going to take a shower. I’m going to wash my stage makeup off, wash myself off, wash my hair, and make sure that I’m clean. I’m not going to get back in bed. I’m not going to throw up. I’m going to be perfectly fine.

“Just an exercise,” she says as she rummages through her bag. She produces a handheld mirror and stands up, walking it over to the other side of the desk where I’m sitting. “I want you to look at yourself. I want you to look in this mirror, look at yourself and say that you deserve happiness.”

“Bailey…” I roll my eyes at how stupid this is. “I’m not… I mean I’m —“

“I know, I know. I know it feels awkward af first and it seems really stupid and pointless. I know. I thought the same thing when my therapist told me to do it once. But trust me. It works. Just say it.”

“...I deserve happiness.” I whisper as I stare at my reflection.

“You do.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “And you and Rachel will work this out if you’re meant to be. And if it’s not meant to be… then someone who appreciates you will come along, Q. Someone who knows and appreciates what an amazing, funny, wise, smart, sweet girl you are. Someone who loves you for you.”

_ Someone who loves me for me… you really think I’m amazing? And funny? And wise, smart and sweet? You really think all those things about me? About me? You think those things…? _

I look over at the way her hand is rested against my shoulder and I feel really strange all of a sudden. Like maybe I’m not myself anymore and maybe like I’m not thinking clearly? Because I just had an idea… or maybe it’s more like an urge. An urge that I can’t fight. An urge that just takes over me…

And makes me look up at Bailey as she’s hovering over me. She looks down at me and I feel like maybe we’re thinking the same thing? Maybe we’re feeling the same thing?

She doesn’t lean in, but I do. Her eyes close and my eyes close too. And my lips touch hers first.

They’re so soft. I mean, I’ve never really thought about what Bailey’s lips might feel like but they’re really soft and I didn’t think they’d be this soft. They’re the softest lips I’ve ever kissed. It feels like gliding my lips across a rose petal. I open my mouth to deepen it first and she follows my suit and she tastes like peppermint. Our heads tilt opposite sides from one another and I feel her tongue. Even her tongue is soft. It’s aggressive, the way she uses it to massage mine and explore every single inch of my mouth… but it’s so gentle that it feels like it might melt when it’s pressed up against mine. With my teeth, I bite down on her bottom lip like I want to actually eat her or something and I don’t think I ever want to stop kissing her… if I ever needed any confirmation that I’m gay, this right here would be it… I love women… and I love the spark that kissing her gives me. I haven’t felt a spark like that ever since I saw Rachel kissing Finn…

But just as quickly as the kiss started, she pulls away from me and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that my lips are on fire and I’ve just burned her. That’s how quickly she pulls away. And she looks at me with a face white as a ghost. She’s pure white and her eyes are wide and her mouth is hung open a little and I’m not even sure she’s breathing. She looks at me like she just realized what we did and how wrong it is and how much trouble she could get in for doing it.

And she’s too nice to tell me to get out, which is what she really wants to do. She’s too stunned and nice to tell me to get out, so she just stares at me with a very literal “oh shit” look on her face. And I’ve already done enough. I’ve done enough by kissing her and I’ve done enough by initiating something that could cost her her job and possibly send her to jail, so I should just leave. I should leave and never ever ever come back. She was the only good thing in my life and I just messed that up by acting on a stupid urge.

I should leave. I should never come back.

So I grab my stuff and that’s what I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are a really smart bunch of readers (smartest fandom I’ve ever written for tbh) so you probably saw that coming with how personal Quinn and Bailey’s sessions get sometimes, but does anyone wish Bailey was younger and not Quinn’s therapist so they could date for like a month until Quinn forgives Rachel, or is that just me?


	62. Really Don’t Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I was able to get the infamous chapter 62 up the next day! (By splitting it into two chapters, so you guys get an extra chapter of this story. Lol. And chapter 63 is going to be worse than this one since it’s basically 62 part 2)
> 
> Just a quick heads up so you guys aren’t confused, these next two or three chapters will bounce between third person and first person POV so you can get inside other characters’ heads when Quinn isn’t able to narrate anymore. I’ll try my best to make sure it’s seamless so there’s no confusion when the switches take place, but if you’re ever confused just let me know and I’ll explain it for you.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> Quinn goes into detail about her suicide attempt, so there’s some pretty heavy language and it could be a little triggering, so please use discretion while reading.

* * *

* * *

From the kitchen, Mom cranes her neck and nearly breaks her back to look down the hallway when she hears the door open and slam shut behind me. She stands at the stove, nudging something back and forth with a spatula while soft music plays from her old radio. Maybe if today was a normal day, I’d go into the kitchen and ask her if she needed help with dinner because I’m home really early and I don’t want to be completely useless. If today was a normal day, I’d sit at the table and finally tell her that Rachel kissed Finn and I’ve been really upset. I would never tell her that I kissed Bailey. Ever.

Today’s not a normal day, anyway.

“Jare?” Mom calls out from the kitchen as she turns her radio down a smidge. “Honey, is that you?”

I knew as soon as I left through the cafeteria doors and got into my car that I was going to be in serious trouble, probably suspended for leaving school without parent or faculty permission. I knew as soon as I walked through the door, Mom would question why I’m home at 12:45 in the afternoon when school doesn’t let out for another two hours. I knew when I made the conscious decision to leave school during the middle of the day that I was going to be in for some serious consequences. But at this point? I don’t really care.

I don’t even bother taking my shoes off at the door. I just swat Whitney and Bobby away from me, hang my jacket over the railing of the steps, and head up them. I hear Mom’s footsteps creaking into the hallway but I don’t bother to stop walking up the steps to talk to her. I have one goal and one goal only. And that goal is to get in my bed, pull the covers over my head, and cry so hard that my stomach and my head feel like they’re going to burst. I’m not getting out of bed today. I’m not getting out of bed tomorrow. Hell, I might not even get out of bed for the rest of the week.

“Quinn?” She stops at the bottom of the steps and calls my name as she watches me climb them. “Baby, what you doing home? Is everything alright? You feeling okay?”

“Why don’t you just mind your fucking business, okay?” I stomp up the last few steps and stomp down the hallway to my room.

“Excuse me?” I hear her talking as she climbs up the steps but again, I don’t even stop. “I said ‘excuse me’, Quinn. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“You and your whole damn family, just mind your fucking business.” I hear her walking behind me, but I just disappear into my room and slam the door behind me so hard that the walls shake and I hear the wood crack. 

I don’t care enough to talk to her and if she’s going to hit me or smack me in the mouth or kick me out or ground me or punish me or grab a belt and whip me or whatever kind of discipline she decides to use on me for cursing at her, I don’t care. I don’t have the energy in me to care. I really don’t. All I care about is the way my mattress feels underneath of my body. And how my quilt hides me when I pull it over my head.

_ Now what am I supposed to do without Bailey? She’s not going to see me again. I think that’s a rule. She has to transfer me to someone else, someone else who won’t care nearly as much as she does and someone who won’t get me the way she gets me. I just lost her. She was the only good thing in my life and I lost her. I lost her because I’m so mixed up and… and kissing her felt good. Kissing her felt so good. It felt the most good I’ve felt since Rachel kissed Finn but now I lost her. The best thing in my life and I lost her too… why do I wreck everything I touch? Why do I — _

My door busts open without even so much as a knock for warning and for some reason, that  _ really  _ sets me off. I sit up so quickly and so angrily that I don’t even think about what’s coming out of my mouth, I just let it come out.

“Knock much?!” I yell at her and she completely ignores me. The look on her face would scare me any other day but not today. Today I am fearless. Today, nothing can hurt me. Nothing can hurt you if you don’t care about anything.

“You know what, little girl?!” She storms over to my bed and rips my blankets away from me. “Get up! Now!” I’ve never heard her yell this way before, but all I can do is stare at her. She doesn’t intimidate me. Whatever she does to me can’t hurt me. “You think I won’t drag your little ass out this bed?! I SAID GET UP. NOW.”

“Or what?!” I roll my eyes and fish my phone from the back pocket of my jeans. “You gonna take my phone?! Here.” I toss it on my bed where she can grab it, then go for my other pocket where my car keys are too. “Take my keys?! Here. Have at it. I’ll give you anything to just shut up and leave me alone. I’m SICK. I don’t feel well. I don’t need you checking up on me every five seconds, I don’t need you making me any stupid appointments to see the doctor. What I need is for you and your pushy ass husband and your invasive ass daughter to back the hell up, leave me alone, and let me have a life.”

Mom looks at my phone and my keys on the edge of my bed, then back at me. Her eyes are wide, anger bubbling in her like the soup she made over the weekend. Her nostrils flare, a vein in her forehead sticks out, her hands curl up into fists.  _ Hit me… go ahead. Just do it. I know you want to, so you might as well do it. I’m your daughter, right? You truly believe that, don’t you? You love me like your own? Well if you love me, then hit me. Just like you would if I were your real daughter. Hit me. _

“...If I was you…” Her voice comes out in a tone way lower than the way she usually talks and it’s almost like she’s trying to talk through her teeth, which are clenched together. “And I wanted to stay in this house… I would think LONG and HARD about the way you just spoke to me… and I would  _ NEVER  _ do it again.”

I roll my eyes at her again and grab the quilt that she pulled off my body. I cover myself with it again and turn my back when I lie down so that it’s facing her.  _ See? I knew you couldn’t do it. I knew you couldn’t hit me. You say I’m like your daughter and you love me just the same. But you can’t even discipline me the way you’d discipline Mercedes. You won’t hit me. You don’t love me the same. Get out of my room. Fucking liar. _

She closes my door behind herself once she leaves and I close my eyes.

_ What do I care if she kicks me out? So I go live on the streets, whatever. I can make my own way in this world. Maybe I’ll even get lucky and starve to death on the street. What do I care if I can’t ever come back here? I don’t need them in my life. I don’t need anybody. I don’t need anybody except for myself. They don’t need me either. They’d be much happier if it was back to normal with them just having two kids instead of a third who is more trouble than she’s worth. I don’t add anything to their lives. It’s not like they would miss me if I were gone. I’m so insignificant in this world that it wouldn’t make a difference if I were in it either way. _

_ I’ve already lost everything else I care about… what difference does it make if I lose them too? Rachel’s gone. Bailey’s gone. I gave Beth to Shelby. Judy won’t talk to me, Russel hates me. Frannie’s in another state. What’s the difference if I add Jared and Patrice to that list? What difference will it make if Mercedes is gone too? _

_ I ruin everything. I ruined my parents’ life by getting pregnant. I ruined Beth’s life by coming into it when she could have been perfectly happy with just Shelby. I ruined Rachel’s life by making her feel like she’s gay when she’s clearly not. I ruined the Joneses lives by showing up with bruises on my face and needing a place to stay. And now I’ve successfully managed to ruin Bailey’s life, too. If anyone finds out, she’ll lose her job and probably her therapy license and probably her child abuse clearances. She’ll lose custody of her son, probably go to jail, probably have to register as a sex offender. All because I had the urge to kiss her and my stupid self couldn’t keep that to myself. She doesn’t deserve this… she doesn’t deserve to have gotten wrapped up with me. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault and she’s going to hate me now and I can’t blame her because I hate me now too. _

_ I hate me now too… _

_ I needed her. She was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I was really starting to make positive changes when I talked to her and she felt like my friend. She felt like someone I could really trust and I really liked her and I messed up. I messed up. Now what am I gonna do? _

_ I kissed Bailey and I broke up with Rachel and I cussed at Mom and I… I just don’t know what’s happening… why isn’t anything getting better? _

_ Why is everything getting worse? _

My stomach makes this really loud gurgling noise and I start to feel a little lightheaded, so I pull my covers back and I swing my feet over the side of the bed so I can get up.

I have to hold onto the wall as I walk down the hallway because my stomach feels so queasy that I honestly can’t stand upright. I’m glad that Mom isn’t in the hallway and she went back downstairs because even though she’s mad at me right now, I know that she’d be in my business and wondering why I feel so sick and why I’m holding onto the wall.

Somehow I manage to make it to the bathroom without blowing chunks all over the floor. I shut the door behind myself and don’t bother locking it because I won’t be in her for very long. I drag my feet over to the toilet, flip the seat up, and stare down into the clear water below…

_ She tilts the third bottle of pills over and shakes a few out into her hand. Just like she did with the two previous handfuls she already swallowed, she stares at them for a few seconds as they lay in the middle of her palm. She thought it was strange how ten tiny orange pills held the key to her entire life. _

_ She grazes her finger across one of the tablets and takes a deep breath because for some reason, only then did it start to feel real to her. She doesn’t know why, but the other two handfuls she swallowed just didn’t feel very real to her. Now, on the their and final handful she plans to take, she is suddenly very aware of what she’s doing. _

_ You see, she just wants to sleep. _

_ She had the most amazing dream last night about her baby. Her baby was little and she was warm and she had little blonde hair all over her head. It was just her and her baby and they were alone in the hospital room, nobody else there to bother them. She held her baby close to her body and stroked her cheek as she nursed from her breast. She was hers and there was nobody storming in to take her baby away from her. Her baby was perfect and they had each other and she knew that her baby was all she needed in the world. Her baby was the light to end all her darkness, a life saving raft in the middle of the ocean she almost drowned in. Her baby made everything worth it and they belonged to each other. _

_ Then she woke up. _

_ She woke up and she could still feel her baby’s lips latched onto her, her baby’s breath tickling her chest. She could still feel her baby breathing against her and she could still smell the shampoo the nurses washed her baby’s hair with. She could even feel the weight of her baby lying against her. But when she woke up, she wasn’t there. Her baby wasn’t there and it was just the most marvelous dream and she wanted to do it again. That’s all she wanted. _

_ She leans against the headboard of her bed and grabs the bottle of water from her nightstand. She isn’t one to chicken out of something. She is a Fabray. And when a Fabray does something, they don’t half-ass it. They do it 100%. She isn’t backing down, she isn’t pussying out. She is going to do it and she is going to do it right now. _

_ She tilts her head back and rips the last of the pills into her open mouth, washing them down with the water as quickly as possible to avoid tasting them. She feels the pills hitting the bottom of her stomach, weighing it down line she dropped bricks instead of pills. _

_ She knows that it will kick in any minute. She knows that any minute now, she’ll lie down and close her eyes and everything will be all over. _

_ All the times she felt sick when she saw his status updates pop up on her newsfeed. All the times she went to take a nap on the couch but felt his sloppy hands prying her legs apart instead. The constant disgust she felt when she looked in the mirror, and the shame that draped itself over her shoulders every time she saw the barely-noticeable blood stain on the back of her Cheerios skirt. The aching sensation she got in her chest when she opened up Shelby’s Facebook page and saw her baby growing up without her. The feeling that she is missing a piece of her heart. And the fear she felt when faced with the realization that having sex isn’t what she wanted to do that night… _

_ Everything will be gone in a minute.  _ _ She’ll _ _ be gone in a minute. _

_ She’ll be gone and everyone’s lives will remain the same. Nobody’s world will stop turning. She’ll just be someone who was here one day and gone the next. She didn’t touch anyone’s lives. She doesn’t make a difference to anyone. She doesn’t matter in this world. Nobody will miss her when she’s gone. When she’s gone, nobody will speak at her funeral because nobody has a nice word to say about her. She’ll just be someone who used to exist. She’ll be another headstone in the cemetery. _

_ She opens her eyes back up because there still isn’t anything happening. Why isn’t anything happening? Shouldn’t something be happening by now? She needs it to happen now, before she loses her nerve. If she lays in bed any longer, she’s going to lose her nerve and she’s not going to be brave enough to do it and she couldn’t add this to her list of failures. She just couldn’t. She failed as a daughter, she failed as Finn’s girlfriend, she failed as another, she failed as a Christian, she failed as a good role model… she can’t fail at this too. She can’t fail at killing herself. There has to be something in this world that she can do right… _

_ Then she remembers that there’s one pill in the medicine cabinet she hasn’t tried yet… _

_ So even though her head feels like it’s fifty pounds and it’s hard for her to pick it up off her pillow, she manages to do it anyway and is a little scared when everything in her hearing is muffled and fuzzy as she walks across the hallway and back into the bathroom. _

_ And something happens… _

_ She can’t feel her legs… _

_ Her heart is beating too fast… _

_ I’m slipping away… _

_ My stomach… burns. _

_ My ears… burn. _

_ I’m falling… _

_ I’m on the floor. On the floor and my arm. Arm hurts. Stomach is tight. Loud. I fell loud. _

_ I feel… _

_ I’m disappearing… _

_ My eyes blink but I can’t blink anymore… too tired… _

_ I’m… _

_ Fading. _

_ Like dust particles up into the sky… _

_ It’s like drifting off into sleep, except you know that you won’t wake up.  _

_ The more you blink, the heavier your eyes get and the harder it becomes to keep them open. You know that eventually, there’s going to be a time when you blink and your eyes just don’t open up again. And you feel the weight leaving your body, almost. Little pieces of you break away and crumble and dissolve into the air until you’re… nothing. _

_ My eyes blink, then they’re heavy. My head is heavy. My ears ring. My heart beats a little too fast to be comfortable. _

_ Then there’s fingernails in my mouth, trying to make me throw up. _

_ Smooth fingernails, neatly trimmed. They scratch the back of my throat and the hand is salty. Salty, salty. A little bit of blood. _

_ No, a lot of blood… _

_ It’s a lot of… _

Blood.

I’ve never seen blood this color before, I’ve never seen blood this dark. It’s deep, deep, dark red. Almost black. Why is there so much? There’s so much of it, there’s so much blood… so much blood, there’s so much blood! It’s on the toilet seat, on the floor, inside the toilet…

The toilet is red. It’s full, full full full full of blood so much blood so much blood a lot of blood too much blood nobody should bleed this much…

I take two steps, backing away from the toilet but I only get a step and a half in before I lose my balance and fall to the floor. I can’t feel my legs… I can’t feel my legs and my heart is beating too fast.

When I fall, I bite down on something. Ow… ow… ow… I bit… I bit my hand? My hand was in my mouth? I didn’t feel it… that was my hand? My hand in my mouth? That was me? I made myself throw up? This is my blood? My blood? I came in here to throw up, I know I did. I know I did. But I don’t even see any throw up in the toilet, I see blood. There’s so much blood, so much blood. Did that come out of me?

I grab onto the sink ledge to pull myself up because I’m just gonna clean this up and then go back to bed and act like this didn’t happen. This didn’t happen, this isn’t my blood… it’s not.

I leave a bloody handprint on the sink as I pull myself up and my throat feels like it’s… gone. It feels like it’s gone, I can’t feel my throat, so I cough. I cough because I need to know that my throat isn’t missing or in the toilet or whatever throats do when they’re hurt. I cough and then more blood splatters onto the mirror and into the sink and I open my mouth and it pours out! It’s so dark and so thick and so red and it’s pouring out of my mouth like lemonade from a pitcher!

There’s too much blood… this is too much blood…

_ Mom…? Mom, I’m sorry… but can you please help me? _

* * *

“So I was hoping that maybe dad could go with me and Sam to pick out his tux. His dad’s been working crazy hours just to come up with the money for tickets, Sam doesn’t really wanna ask him to miss work to take him shopping for a tux.” Mercedes drummed her pencil along her notebook.

“Yeah, I’m sure daddy will go with you and do that. Sam gonna buy a tux or rent one for winter formal?” Mrs. Jones tucked the tag of her daughter’s shirt down and rubbed her back.

“Rent. Which is still super expensive and he can barely afford.” Mercedes sighed and opened up her calculator. “I’m gonna pull my savings and see about helping him pay for it. It won’t be that bad if we split it two ways.”

“I’ll talk to daddy and have him pay for it, don’t worry.” Mrs. Jones said. “You been talkin’ to Quinn lately, squish?” She ran her fingers through her daughter’s silky black hair and read the math problem over her shoulder. She pointed to the answer that Mercedes got wrong, then went back to draining the pot of ground beef cooking on the stove.

“I talked to her at lunch for a little. She said she wasn’t feeling well and stuff. The usual.” Mercedes erased her answer and put her pencil down, deciding to come back to the math problems that she wasn’t understanding just a little bit later. “She’s probably going to be suspended for leaving school.”

“I know, I know. I done called up the school already. They said she can’t come back for three days. She can’t just be leaving like that.” Mrs. Jones sighed and began cutting the tomatoes into cubes so she could boil them. “I don’t know what imma do with her. It’s like she just don’t wanna be here ‘Cedes. I ain’t gonna force her, but where else she gonna go?”

“Quinn’s rough around the edges, Ma. You just gotta love her hard. Trust me on this. When she pushes you away? That’s when she needs you the most.” Mercedes stood up and went over to the pantry in search of the package of Oreos. “She’s just been through a lot and it makes her a little hard sometimes.” She plucked three Oreos from the package and put it back. “Is she grounded?”

“I dunno right now. My first instinct is to ground her for eternity for that smart mouth she got. But then I just… I think the child is hurting and I wanna get to the bottom of it.” Mrs. Jones put the pot back on the stove. “She say anything to you ‘bout why she done came home? Or she just come home ‘cause she was sick? If she come home ‘cause she was sick, all she hadda do was call me. I’dda called up that school and told them to excuse her. She ain’t have to just leave.” She dumped the tomatoes into the pot and began cutting green peppers next. “I think there’s something wrong with her. I just ain’t know what. But the child ain’t been eatin’. She ain’t been eatin’, she losin’ weight left and right… maybe I oughta get her some vitamins or something.”

“Well she hasn’t said anything to me about anything, so,” Mercedes bit an Oreo and leaned against the counter. “If there was something seriously wrong, she would have told me. I think she’s just sick and plus she’s been kinda sad lately.”

“Why she sad?”

“Because…” Mercedes pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and silently debated on whether or not she should tell her mom. On one hand, her mom really did seem concerned about Quinn. On the other hand, she didn’t think Quinn wanted their mom to know about her and Rachel’s problems… “There’s just this thing, that’s all.”

“You don’t know why she sad?” Mrs. Jones scraped the peppers and onions into the pot next, then put a lid on top. It was times like this where she wished she could get inside of Quinn’s head. In truth, all she wanted to do was understand her. She knew that Quinn wasn’t the best at opening up, but could trust her… Quinn could trust her. “Maybe I oughta ask Rachel, Rachel probably know why she sad.”

“Rachel’s the reason she’s sad, Ma.” Mercedes hung her head, suddenly feeling like a really crappy friend. She could rationalize that she only told for the sake of Quinn, but Quinn would never see it that way… “They broke up. They broke up at regionals. And Quinn’s taking it pretty hard.”

“So that’s what’s up with her.” Everything suddenly made sense for Patrice, and she completely understood. Now that she had a better understanding, she could say for certain that Quinn was grounded. But at least she had a reason for her sour moods, so then she could be as supportive as possible. “I ‘member my first heartbreak. It was rough. That typa thing’ll knock you on your ass if you ain’t ready for it. My poor girl.”

“Yeah, Quinn’s the one who broke up with her. But she’s still taking it pretty hard.”

“I’ll say she’s taking it pretty hard.” Mrs. Jones snickered with sarcasm and glanced into the kitchen to make sure her husband was still invested in the television set and not listening to what they were talking about. “She dropped the f-bomb at me. A few times.”

“What do you mean she dropped the f-bomb at you?” Mercedes looked at her mom with narrowed eyes, feeling a surge of anger race through her entire body. She couldn’t believe Quinn would say such a thing to their mother. After everything she and her family did, Quinn would say something like that…? She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it and she was mad as hell.

“Now ‘Cedes, look. Don’t go saying nothing to her and don’t go starting to problems. Imma —“

“Is that why she won’t come outta her room? Because she knew I was gonna be pissed off hearing that she swore at my mother?”

“I think she sleep. She sleep and Imma handle it. Ain’t no sense in you getting all worked up about it. Imma handle it. Imma talk to daddy later and Imma handle it.”

“No, mom. I’ll handle it. I’m not just gonna let this go. She can’t just come up into our house and disrespect you like that. I love her to death but that’s not cool. That’s not cool and I’m gonna go let her know how I feel about it.” Mercedes headed for the staircase and stomped up each step with conviction, silently practicing what she was going to say to Quinn in her head.

She stomped down to the opposite end of the hallway and knocked twice on Quinn’s bedroom door, even though it wasn’t completely shut. “Quinn, it’s me. I’m coming in, okay?” Mercedes pushed them door just a little and let it swing open, slightly annoyed when she found nothing but a dark bedroom and rustled bedsheets.

She sighed hard and went to the other end of the hallway once again, knowing that Quinn must have been in the bathroom. She saw the light glowing from underneath the door, knew that she found Quinn, and knocked twice.

“Hey listen,” she started, trying to reign her anger in so that she didn’t say anything too out of line and anything that would ruin their friendship. “When you get outta there, we need to talk. My mom told me what you said to her and it didn’t like it. So we gotta talk about it. Okay?”

There was nothing but radio silence on the other side of the door, so Mercedes put her ear against it. She heard nothing with her ear pressed against the door, which annoyed her a little more because she knew then that Quinn was ignoring her.

“Come on, Quinn. You can’t be in there forever. I’m not even that mad, I just wanna talk about it. So you need to come out. Like now.”

Still silence, which only fueled Mercedes’ irritation. She knew that Quinn was still upset about breaking up with Rachel, and she completely understood it. But she couldn’t believe how blatantly disrespectful she was being lately. There was something deeper wrong with Quinn… she just knew it. She knew her best friend.

“If you don’t say something in the next five seconds, I’m coming in.” Mercedes said and put her hand on the doorknob. “I said I’m coming in.” Still nothing. “Fine, suit yourself.”

Mercedes twisted the doorknob and pushed the bathroom door open hastily, fully prepared to give Quinn a piece of her mind. But as soon as the door was open… she stopped dead in her tracks…

She noticed the blood at first — the darkest blood she had ever seen — pooled in multiple spots on the floor. There was a large stain of it on the light blue rug, a trail of it leading from the sink to the toilet, then rivers of it spilling from the top of the toilet seat. She thought it looked like a scene ripped straight from a horror movie. She thought blood that color only ever came from the movies and the placement of it all seemed so perfect. From the circular pools of it on the rug and the floor to the splatters on the mirror and bloody handprint on the sink.

She noticed Quinn next… and she completely froze.

Face down with her head angled slightly to the left, Quinn laid on the floor completely stiff with her arms straight down at her sides. Her usually beautiful, soft blonde hair was sticky with blood and her fair skin was stained red. Though her jaw was clenched tightly together, Mercedes could still see a stream of blood dripping out the side of her mouth and collecting in the pool that had already started to gather below her chin.

Mercedes began to shake and her chest was suddenly tight. She took a deep breath — the deepest she could take — and let out the most blood-curdling, brain-spinning, stomach-churning scream she could conjure up.

**“MOM!” ** She screamed as loud and as long as her body would let her.  **“MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!” ** She continued to scream, hoping that the screaming would bring her back to reality. And on some level, it did. She let go of the door that was keeping her anchored to the ground and immediately dropped to her knees, kneeling in a pool of blood but not really caring.

“Quinn?!” She puts her hands on her best friend’s back and shook a little. “Quinn, wake up! Wake up, wake up, its —  **MOM! MOM!”**

Mrs. Jones climbed the steps so fast that it sounded like a herd of elephants barreling through the house. She had never heard her daughter scream like that. As a mother, she prided herself on knowing her children’s different cries. When her children were younger, she could tell what was wrong with them just by the sound of their cry. But this wasn’t something she’d ever heard from her daughter before. And for that reason, she knew something was  _ incredibly  _ wrong…

“Oh my GOD!” Mrs. Jones hardly noticed all the blood. All she noticed and all she cared about was Quinn, lying on the floor unresponsive and motionless. “Move! Move, move, move, move, move! Mercedes, move!” She pushed her daughter out of the way and shook Quinn next. “Quinn?” She grunted as she pulled Quinn’s practically lifeless body into her lap and held her head. “What’s the matter, baby? It’s Mom, I’m here… I’m here, come on.” She patted her on the cheek and got no response whatsoever. Tears rolled off her cheeks and onto Quinn’s forehead. “ **JARED!”**

“Mom, is she dead?!” Mercedes held her hand against her heart and sobbed so hard her entire body shook. “Is she dead? Mom, she can’t die. She can’t die, she’s my best friend. Is she dead? I need her, mom… mommy… Quinn! Wake up!”

“Oh my…” Mr. Jones whispered as he stood by the door and took in the scene. “God.” He choked back a little bit of bile that rose up in the back of his throat but pulled himself together. “Tricey, here!” He shoved his cell phone at her and knelt down beside Quinn to immediately get to work. “Call an ambulance. Call an ambulance, now!” 

“Jared, she’s —“

“She’s gonna be fine, just call the ambulance.” He tilted Quinn’s head back and used his thumbs to pry her clenched jaw open. “Mercedes, get out of here. Now. Get out of here. You don’t need to be seeing this, go. NOW!” He used his hand to scoop three big clots of blood from Quinn’s mouth and tried to keep himself steady. “I SAID GO, MERCEDES!”

“I’m not leaving her! I’m not leaving her! Daddy, she can’t die on me, okay? She can’t, she’s my best friend, she’s… I need her! I need her! She’s my best friend, I need her! I…” Mercedes held her heart again as she listened to her mother answer questions on the phone. She took a few deep breaths and stood up, blood all over her pants.

“...I gotta go, I gotta… I gotta go call Rachel.” She said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and also I want to say;; I really love you guys and I don’t deserve all your sweet comments. You guys are seriously the best fandom I’ve ever written for and I feel so loved and welcomed and appreciated and I want you guys to know that you’re just as appreciated by me. I really do love each and every single one of you and I can’t wait until I get some time to reply to these long reviews you guys are spoiling me with. It makes me so excited to start my new Faberry story after this one is over.
> 
> Please don’t ever feel like you guys have to apologize to me for telling me what you don’t like about the story. I know the difference between constructive criticism, strong opinions and hate and trust me when I say you guys are the complete opposite of hate. Even when you’re telling me you don’t like something, you guys are always so nice to me and it’s surreal because I’ve written for other fandoms who have honestly torn me apart. Other fandoms have been absolutely brutal and dragged me through the pits of hell so trust me when I say… I don’t get offended easily, you guys are all freaking awesome and the NICEST fandom I’ve ever written for. And I take it as a huge compliment when you guys have genuine feelings and reactions about my writing, so I could never be mad about that.
> 
> You guys have all been so nice to me and it makes me wish that I would have put aside my insecurities and wrote for Faberry back when the fandom was in it’s prime. I wanted to so bad because I’ve shipped Faberry just as long as you guys but unfortunately, I was still a closeted little 13 year old when glee premiered (I just aged myself :/ lol) and I was nowhere near confident in my writing, so. I wish I had written for you guys sooner because you’re so nice to me. I seriously want to be friends with all of you.


	63. Invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched the medical parts of this as much as I possibly could, but I still might have made some mistakes so I’m asking to be forgiven for any mistakes. Lol. I’m not a doctor. I’m just filmmaking major who watches a lot of Grey’s Anatomy.

* * *

* * *

“What do we got?” The emergency room nurse sprung up from behind her desk as soon as the automatic doors slid apart. She pulled a pair of purple gloves from the box on the check-in counter and tied her long, red hair up into a high ponytail.

“Seventeen-year-old female unconscious, unresponsive and bleeding from the mouth.” The head paramedic briefed her as he led the gurney past the check-in counter and down the hall. “I tried to start an IV, but her veins kept collapsing. Pupils are fixed, dilated and generally not responding to light. I found a pulse, but it’s weak.”

“Okay, page Dr. Gunning and get me a tray. We need to intubate her.” The nurse aligned a shiny pair of fabric scissors to the collar of Quinn’s shirt and cut her black cotton t-shirt all the way down to her navel. “Family say anything about what might have caused this?”

“No word, they’re hysterical. Said she was fine earlier, they last saw her about three hours ago, before she went to her bedroom to take a nap. The other daughter walked into the bathroom and found her like this.” The paramedic took his gloves off, knowing that his job here was done. “She’s lost a lot of blood… keep me updated on this one, Cass. I’ve gotta get back out there in the field.”

“Sure thing, Ron.” The nurse put four sticky probes in Quinn’s chest and turned on the heart monitor just as another doctor pulled the curtain back and entered the room.

“What do you got, Cass? Get me up to speed.” Dr. Gunning immediately went over to the sink to wash her hands, quickly because she knew that any case with as much blood as she saw on Quinn’s body required her to act fast.

“Seventeen-year-old female bleeding from the mouth. Paramedics said she’s been unresponsive since before they got here, and her pupils are fixed. They were unsuccessful at getting an IV started, but I got one going in her neck, it’s the only vein that wouldn’t collapse. She’s dehydrated. I’m trying to intubate but there’s too much blood, I can’t see.” The nurse everyone called “Cass” kept working to get the tube down Quinn’s throat, easing it down little by little.

Dr. Gunning looked at the monitor to access the damage, then moved to help the nurse get the tube in. “We’ve gotta intubate her, NOW. Her stats are falling, she’s in sinus tach.” She pushed hard, forcing the tube down Quinn’s throat and immediately attaching the tube to the oxygen valve. “Family doesn’t know what caused this?”

“They haven’t got a clue. They said they saw her about three hours ago, then the other daughter found her like this in the bathroom. Paramedics said she lost a lot of blood, and I think they’re right. This is a lot of blood…”

“Yeah, it’s too much blood.” Dr. Gunning replied, her tone slightly heightened with concern. She had been a doctor for years and never once had she seen someone bleeding from the mouth so profusely.

“What do you think this could be?” Cass asked, staring closely at the monitor to watch Quinn’s status slowly begin to rise now that the machine was breathing for her. “A stroke? Head trauma? Abuse?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen this much blood coming from someone’s mouth. Something must have ruptured.” Dr. Gunning pulled Quinn’s eyelids up and shined her flashlight into them. “Her pupil’s totally blown. I’ve gotta get her up to CT, something’s still hemorrhaging. Go ask the family for something — ANYTHING — that can explain what the hell happened to this little girl.”

As Dr. Gunning loosened the brakes on the bed, she wheeled Quinn straight out of the trauma room and up the hallway, moving as fast as her legs would take her. 

Cass took a deep breath to steady herself before she had to go back into the waiting room, trying tj mentally prepare herself for something she didn’t want to do. She hated this part of her job the most. She had been an emergency room nurse for fifteen years and over the course of her career, she had seen the most dire cases come through those doors. Some lived, most of them didn’t. But the worst part was always when she had to go out and tell the family what they didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to look them in their eyes and tell them that their seventeen-year-old daughter was gravely ill. She didn’t want to poke them and prod them and ask a million questions as they tried to understand what caused this. She wanted to tell them that their daughter was sick, let them process it, and leave it at that. But alas, she had to do her job… and her job included asking for as much insight as they could give.

She stood at the threshold between the waiting room and the hallway and looked around at all the patient, sick, and sometimes worried families. She scanned the room for the little girl’s parents, scoping to see if she could find a woman who resembled her. _ Probably blonde _ , she thought. _ Probably skinny. _When she came up fruitless, she took another deep breath and glanced at the iPad in her hands.

“For Lucy?” She called out into the room.

Mercedes was the first one up and out of her chair, stepping in front of both her mother and her father. She hadn’t bothered to change her clothes or fix herself before she and her dad jumped into the car and followed her mother and Quinn in the ambulance to the hospital. She still had Quinn’s blood on the knees of her whitewashed blue jeans, her eyes were red and puffy, and her hair stuck up on all ends even though she wore it in a ponytail.

“How is she? Is she okay?” Mercedes grabbed onto her elbows as she folded her arms across her body, hugging herself in preparation for the worst news. “She’s okay, right?”

“Are you the mother?” Cass asked Mrs. Jones as she slowly approached. She could have guessed she was the mother just by the way she looked. Tears still fell from her low, weary eyes and the worry lines on her face looked etched and permanent.

Mrs. Jones ran her fingers through her unruly, strewn hair and took a deep breath as she cleared her throat. “What’s goin’ on with her?” She tried to hold back more tears but when Mr. Jones wrapped his arm around her shoulder, it was like the floodgates opened. “She gonna be fine, ain’t she?”

“She lost a lot of blood, but Dr. Gunning took her back for a CT just to find the source of the bleeding and we should know more shortly.” Cass sounded robotic and she hated it. She hated that her job required her to be emotionless sometimes. “I just need to ask you guys a few questions that we weren’t able to gather when she came in.”

“Of course.” Mr. Jones kept his arms around both his wife and his daughter and remained steady. “Whatever you wanna know.”

“The paramedics told us that you last saw Lucy about three hours ago?” Cass asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Mrs. Jones nodded. “She came home from school early. She been sick lately, so she came home early and —“

“Sick how?”

“Just um… nauseous, I guess. Nauseous and real sick on her stomach. She said she had a headache the other night too. I was gonna take her to see the doctor at the end of the week if she wasn’t better.” Mrs. Jones explained, feeling guilt settle in. How didn’t she notice how sick her baby was? She should have pushed to take her to the doctor’s sooner… “I was gonna take her at the end of the week…” She repeated and more tears rolled down.

Cass put her head down and swallowed hard. She tried to remain unaffected but it was hard seeing how much they loved this little girl who probably wasn’t going to make it. She paused for a second, letting the Joneses regroup, then asked the next question.

“How was she acting when you saw her last? Was she dizzy? Slurring her speech? Did she seem out of it?”

“No,” Patrice shook her head. “She was fine. She was arguin’ with me, yellin’ at me. She was fine. She was fine just hours ago. She was fine…” She buried her face in her husband’s arm and cried, cried even harder when she felt Mercedes’ arms wrap around her. “I shoulda went up and checked on her. I just wanna know what’s wrong with my daughter…”

“That’s what we’re trying to piece together, ma’am.” Cass cracked for a moment as she put her hand on Patrice’s shoulder. She just couldn’t imagine what they were going through. She had a daughter just a few years younger than Lucy and she couldn’t imagine knowing that she might not make it through this night. “We’ll know more when she comes out of the CT, and —“

“For Lucy Fabray?” Dr. Gunning called out Quinn’s name before she even rounded the corner to enter the emergency room. She was a little sweaty, huffing and out of breath. And Cass knew that was an indication of something very bad…

“That’s us,” Jared raised his hand. “We uh, we call her Quinn. That’s her middle name.”

Dr. Gunning quickly caught her breath and turned her professionalism on like it was activated by a switch. “I’m Dr. Gunning, very pleased to meet you.” She shook all three of the Joneses’ hands and jumped right into it. “I took Quinn back for a scan just to see what’s going on inside of her and see if I could pinpoint the source of the bleeding and it showed a lot of blood in her stomach area, and blood in her lungs. I still can’t find the source because there’s too much blood for me to get a clear vision, and her blood pressure bottomed out while in the CT. So I am upgrading her to a level one trauma, and we here at St. Rita’s are not properly equipped to handle level one traumas and —“

“Wait, wait,” Patrice held her hands up and shook her head. She was trying to grasp everything that Dr. Gunning was saying, but everything was moving and happening too quickly and she couldn’t process. “What do you mean? What are you trying to say?”

“What I’m trying to say is —“

“She ain’t find where all that blood was coming from because there’s too much bleeding inside her to get a good picture of her body.” Jared gently explained to his wife and to Mercedes as well. “While they was doing the test, her blood pressure went really low. And she’s so sick that they can’t take care of her here. So they gonna take her somewhere else.”

“Take her somewhere else?!” Patrice felt her own blood pressure skyrocket at the very idea. She get how they were going to take Quinn somewhere else when she was so sick. What if she died while on the way to the hospital? What couldn’t they do here? It was a hospital for crying out loud! Shouldn’t they be able to handle everything? “Where you gonna take her to?! They barely got her here! She can’t go nowhere else, she can’t breathe on her own, she —“

“Mom, it’s okay,” Mercedes whispered and held her mother’s hand.

“Where do you plan on taking her?” Jared asked, still the calm one.

“I have a transport team prepping her and we’re gonna airlift her out to Dayton Children’s Hospital. We have to get her there as quickly as possible. Now, one of you are permitted to ride in the helicopter with her, and —“

“I’m going,” Patrice shrugged out of her husband’s grasp and wiped her face free of tears. “I need to be with her, so. Alright, let’s go. Let’s get her outta here.”

“We have to move fast, but I do have a few questions I have to ask before you’re permitted to go.” Dr. Gunning grabbed the iPad off of Cass and pulled up the questionnaire. “What’s your name and relation to the patient?”

“Patrice Jones. I’m Quinn’s mama.”

“And is your address the same as the patient’s?”

“Yes. 950 Leland Avenue, here in Lima.”

“Any history with severe motion sickness?”

“No.”

“Any history with sickle cell disease?”

“No.”

“Any serious medical complications that can restrict you or have restricted you from flying in the past?”

“No.”

“How tall are you?”

“5’4, 5’5 maybe.”

“And how much do you weigh?”

“200, maybe 205? I’m not sure.”

“But it’s definitely over 200?”

“Last time I checked, yes.”

Dr. Gunning sighed, feeling her heart breaking for the woman’s dreams that she knew she had to slash. She herself thought it was a stupid rule, but she understood why it had to be enforced. Time and time again, she has seen many mothers and some fathers turned away and discouraged from riding in the helicopter for this same reason, and it never got easier to tell the concerned parents, “no.”

“With all the medical equipment we have to have on the air ambulance, and the pilot and the two medical personnel… then the patient… any ride-along over 200 pounds is not permitted on the air ambulance, just to ensure the aircraft isn’t weighed down and keeps the travel time under 20 minutes.” Dr. Gunning regretfully explained.

Patrice covered her hands over her face and rubbed hard, trying to keep herself and her emotions in check. Mercedes put her hand on her shoulder without saying a word, and she completely ignored the silent sign of affection. She knew the doctors were all just trying to do their job and get Quinn to the children’s hospital safely and quickly, but she couldn’t help feeling like she wanted to strangle them. What difference did it make if she was five pounds over the weight limit? Her daughter was being life-flighted to a hospital and she couldn’t send her alone! The thought of Quinn being on a helicopter by herself made her sick. She didn’t know what was going on, but she couldn’t stand the thought of Quinn being in that helicopter by herself. What if she died in there? What if she died on her way to the hospital? She’d have to die alone and Patrice wasn’t about to let that happen. So she took a deep breath.

“Then you go,” she mumbled to Jared. “Me and ‘Cedes will run home, pack a bag, meet you there.”

“‘Trice, you —“

“You’re going with her. We ain’t about to send that baby up in the air all by herself. Even if she unconscious and don’t know what’s going on, she gonna know that ain’t nobody with her. One of us gotta go with her. If it can’t be me, it’s gotta be you.”

“Alright.” Jared sighed and agreed. “Alright, I’ll go. I’ll call you when we land and let you know where they put her and what they say and stuff.”

“Alright, love. I’ll see you in a little while.” Patrice stood on her tiptoes and hugged him. “You stay with her too, Jare. You hear me? Don’t you leave her for one second.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Jared nodded and followed Dr. Gunning up the hallway while she asked the same series of questions she asked his wife.

As she and her mother headed for the door so they could head back home and then make the hour long drive to Dayton, Mercedes kept her phone pressed to her ear while they walked through the parking lot.

“What’s going on?” She answered on the other end of the phone after only one ring, and Mercedes could tell that she had been crying and waiting for this very phone call. “What are they saying?”

“Rachel…” Mercedes began sobbing as soon as she and her mom made it to their car. “It’s bad…”

“What do you mean it’s bad?!” Rachel’s voice cracked and Mercedes could feel her world falling apart just by the sound of her voice. Maybe she cheated… but there was no doubt in her mind that Rachel loved Quinn. “Mercedes, don’t tell me that! Don’t tell me that!”

“They don’t know what caused it or what happened. There’s a lot of blood and they put her in a helicopter… they’re taking her to Dayton Children’s because they can’t treat her here. They can’t treat her here because it’s so bad.”

“They’re taking her to Dayton?!”

“They can’t treat her here. They said —“

“I’m coming.”

“But I thought you said your dads won’t let —“

“Screw what my dads say, I’m coming.”

* * *

“Is this the transfer from St. Rita’s?!” As soon as the doors to the helicopter flung open, the transport nurse from Dayton yelled over the propeller still swinging and asked the transport nurse from Lima to confirm who he already knew it was.

“Lucy Fabray!” The nurse from St. Rita’s yelled back and helped him unload the gurney they had Quinn’s body strapped to. “Family calls her ‘Quinn’! She’s seventeen, unresponsive and unconscious, bleeding profusely from the mouth! We did at CT back in Lima but couldn’t get any good scans! There’s fluid in the abdomen that appears to be blood but we haven’t been able to find the source! Her pupils are blown, stats are in the tanks! We intubated her back at the hospital, but her stats are still dropping! She coded twice on the way here! I’m thinking she aspirated blood or is throwing a clot!”

“I’ll take it from here!” The children’s hospital nurse assured the nurse from St. Rita’s and continued to wheel Quinn’s body through the set of double doors on the rooftop. “You her dad?” He asked Mr. Jones as soon as they stepped into the warmth of the hospital and didn’t have to scream over the helicopter propellers anymore.

“Yeah,” Jared nodded and stared at Quinn as they shuffled into the elevator. He hadn’t cried yet tonight, but he was pretty damn close now…

He thought she looked small and helpless. Her hair was still stiff and matted with blood and her eyes were closed gently like she was sleeping, but there was no color in her face. Her cheeks were thin and pale instead of their usual full and pink. Her mouth hung open a little, but only because of the tube that was taped and secured down her throat. Her body jerked and swayed lifelessly with every move the gurney made and he just thought that he would never recover from seeing her like that…

“You gonna tell us what happened to her? Nobody can tell us what happened to her… nobody knows. She was fine one minute… then my other daughter found her like this… we don’t know what happened to her.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as tears finally fell. “I just wanna know what’s wrong.”

“Well they sent her to the right place. We’re gonna figure this out. We have an excellent staff here, sir. The best in all of Ohio. She’s in great hands here.” The nurse made his voice soft and reassuring, which made Jared calm down just enough to be able to walk off the elevator when the bell rang.

“Can I stay with her?” He jogged to keep up with how quickly the nurse wheeled the gurney down the hallway to a team of doctors already waiting for Quinn. “I told my wife I’d stay with her.”

“You need to wait right outside this room, sir. Right outside, we have to work now.”

He wheeled Quinn into a room with a curtain, and Jared watched with his back against the wall as they unstrapped her and transferred her onto a bigger bed. As he tried to keep more tears from falling, he listened carefully to every word the doctors said while working on her so that he’d know what to say to his wife and his daughter when they got here.

“She was a full code twice in the ambulance, paramedics administered CPR both times and were able to restart her heart, but the tube isn’t doing anything for her breathing.”

“I looked at the scans St. Rita’s sent over and she has blood all in her abdomen and some in her lungs. She aspirated it, that’s why she can’t breathe. She’s drowning in her own blood.”

“She’s in sinus tach, I can’t find a rhythm.”

“Watch out, I’m doing a doppler.”

“She’s going into cardiac arrest, charge to 250.”

“Hold off on shocking her, I need to find out where this blood is coming from. I’m almost done with the doppler.”

“She’s arresting! She’s having a heart attack, we need to —“

“Her esophagus is completely ruptured, that’s where all this blood is originating. Go prep O.R. three, because as soon as she’s stable, we’re taking her up. We can’t wait.”

“She’s still in cardiac arrest, she’s dying, we —“

“Do NOT charge the defibrillators, we cannot shock her. She will drown in her own blood if we shock her, there's way too much blood in her lungs. Push one cc of heparin to stop the heart attack and let’s get her ready to move. Let’s go, go, go. Dr. Plume is already ready to scrub in.”

The team of doctors had Quinn up to the surgical floor in two minutes flat, knowing that they had to work quickly if she had any chance at survival. In truth, none of the doctors working on her had ever seen an esophageal tear of that magnitude. They’d heard about it and studied it in medical school, but seeing actual tears as severe as Quinn’s was actually very rare.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” The anesthesiologist helped them to transfer Quinn to the operating table, then hooked up the anesthesia mask. “I can take it from here. I’m gonna put her under.”

He held the mask to Quinn’s face and watched the monitor to make sure the anesthesia was taking, and she was completely sedated...

_ The hallway is the kind of hallway that would make a kid forget that they’re sick and in the hospital. The walls are bright green with murals of jungle animals hand painted on them. It doesn’t even smell like a hospital, it smells more like a fresh package of crayola crayons when you open them. The tiles on the floor are plain white and clean, but adorned with black animal footprints, which makes me wonder how many kids have tried to walk along those footprints. _

_ Which way is the pink floor? I heard them say they’re putting Dad on the pink floor. The pink floor must be the surgical floor and if I can find the surgical floor, then I can find the waiting room. I want to be with Dad. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I’m scared… _

_ Which way is the pink floor? Somebody help me. I just want my dad. _

_ I look up at the directory in hopes that there are signs big enough to guide me in the right direction, but I don’t see anything about the pink floor. There’s a map, but I don’t know how to read it. This place is huge. I don’t know where I am. I haven’t been to Dayton Children’s Hospital since I was five and got my tonsils taken out. Can somebody please just help me? I find it hard to believe that there’s nobody around that can help me. _

_ I see someone in scrubs walking towards me, so maybe she can help me… I just need to know how to get to the pink floor. _

_ “Excuse me,” I say very politely as I approach her, even though my throat feels like I’m swallowing glass shards when I talk. Ow… I touch my throat and rub it just a little because maybe it’s just dry. “Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the pink floor?” _

_ She just chews her gum and keeps walking. She walks right past me. _

_ “I said excuse me!” I shout a little louder at her and I really want to cry because my throat hurts so bad. It hurts so bad I feel like I might pass out. But I just want to get to my dad. I just want my dad. I’ve been alone all night and I know he’s probably mad at me because I cussed at my mom earlier but I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just want my dad. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be alone. I’m lost and I’m scared and I’m so lost and I want my dad! “Excuse me…” I try one last time before she’s around the corner and out of my sight. She just keeps walking, though… why did she ignore me? _

_ I’m so scared. I know I shouldn’t be because I’m old, I’m practically an adult. But I am. I’m so scared. _

_ I keep walking down the hallway because maybe there will be some kind of janitor or something that can help me. So I walk until I finally come to a big blue room with fish and sea turtles all over the walls. This is clearly not the pink floor, but there is an older lady sitting at a desk and maybe she’ll be able to point me in the right direction. It’s just that this hospital is huge and my head is really cloudy tonight and I can’t really read a map very well right now. And my chest is burning… everything on me hurts so bad and I just need to find my dad. _

_ “Excuse me,” I bear with the pain in my throat enough to speak again. I taste blood in my mouth when I talk… why is that? “I’m Quinn Fabray.” I introduce myself, but the lady doesn’t look up. She just keeps typing. Maybe she’s just rude like that. Baby boomers suck sometimes. “My name is Quinn Fabray and… and I don’t really know what I’m doing here, but I… I kinda just woke up and I was here and I heard someone say my dad is on the pink floor and I don’t know how to get there.” _

_ She keeps typing on her computer and even stuffs a handful of Fritos into her mouth. _

_ “HELLO!?” I yell at her and all I can taste is blood… “HELLO! I’M TALKING TO YOU!” I slam my hands down on the reception counter to get her attention and let her know I mean business, but I don’t even feel my hands hit the counter… _

_ I lift my hands up and hold them out in front of me and my chest hurts even worse than it did a second ago because I can’t see my hands! I mean, they’re there! They’re right in front of me and I know I’m looking at them because those are clearly my hands but they’re not solid! I can see through them! Where are my hands?! _

_ I want my mom! I want my mom and my dad! _

_ I hold my hand against my chest because it hurts so bad and I feel like I can’t breathe. I know it’s probably a panic attack but I really feel like I’m having a heart attack. I keep my hand against my chest and back away from the lady at the desk, slowly at first. And I keep backing away until my back bumps against something hard and cold and smooth. _

_ “MOM?!” I turn around really fast and even though I knew it wouldn’t be her, I was still kind of hopeful. _

_ Instead of Mom when I turn around, I find that I just bumped into a really big fish tank. A shiny fish tank. One where I can see my reflection… _

_ Where are my clothes?! What happened to my hair?! _

_ I have a light pink, paper-thin hospital gown on with dark purple hearts all over it. It’s tied around my neck and my back and I’m not wearing any underwear. My feet are stuffed inside of really fuzzy pink socks and I have a bunch of colorful bracelets on my arm. My hair is all stiff and crunchy and it’s darker on one side of my head than the other, like it’s wet or something. But what really scares me is how bloody my face is. There’s blood coming from my mouth. And it drips down onto the floor… _

_ I want my dad! Maybe if I scream, he’ll hear me and come get me! _

_ “DADDY, HELP ME!” _

* * *

The long red hand on the analog clock, the one that measured the seconds as they passed, circled around the circumference and passed the large black "12" at the top, signaling that yet another minute had passed. Routinely, like he had been doing ever since they took her back for surgery, Jared eyed the longer black hand and watched with burdening anticipation as it moved a mere centimeter to the right.

Listening to the consistent "tick-tock" sound was driving him mad. Insanity was finding its way to him. It was knocking at the door with a suitcase full of belongings, ready to fashion a cozy and permanent home deep inside his mind. It was knocking, previously had been ringing the doorbell. It was impatient now, demanding a residence...and if he didn't stop it within the next fifteen minutes, he was relatively certain that it would end up beating the door down.

Even though the only bad news he delivered as a doctor was that child needs braces or a tooth pulled, he remembered the bedside manner class he took in college, and his brain flooded with all the tips and advice that he was so properly trained to give when he was on the other side. He remembered them as if they were second nature.

Like a seal at SeaWorld trained to do all the tricks, he remembered everything from that one semester and when he had to recite the steps for his final grade, it was fluid and slid out of his mouth like saliva during a restful slumber. He wished someone would come out and talk to him, though.

Insanity was much closer now, he felt it. He heard it, even. It was standing on the porch, trying to pick the lock. It was almost successful. His leg began to tremble. He was silent, but his thoughts were loud. _ What if she dies? _He thought to himself. He knew that he would never be okay if that happened. Nobody in his family would. They didn’t mean to fall in love with Quinn, but it happened so naturally because she was such a great kid and so lovable. How would they go on if something happened to her?

He buried his face in his hands and finally prepared to let himself cry again, but he heard familiar voices that pulled him out of the fragile state.

“Dad…?” Mercedes called into the quiet room as she looked around.

“I’m right here, sweetie.” He stood up and walked to meet her and his wife at the door, so they could decide where to sit as a family. He wrapped his arms around Mercedes and squeezed her.

“Any update? What have they been saying?” Mercedes looked up at him like she was seven again and asking him to buy her ice cream. “Rachel’s on her way… she’s half an hour out.”

Jared cleared his throat and waited for his wife, who he could see was a mess, to join them. He wanted to wrap his arms around his entire family and shoulder this pain for them. He knew that his wife would ache like she lost an actual child if something happened to Quinn, knew that his daughter would go off the rails if she lost her best friend. He wished he could weather this storm for them…

“How you guys get here so fast? It’s an hour drive. You two made it about 35 minutes.” He asked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Mom was doing an 80 in a 25. And she pushed 100 all the way up the highway.” Mercedes sat down in a seat that looked right into the TV playing some Disney princess movie, and her parents followed her suit.

“An 80 in a 25?” Jared asked his wife, grinning as he held her hand.

“Nevermind that,” Patrice shook her head and plopped down in her chair helplessly. “What they say about her? They find out what’s going on? How she do in the helicopter?”

“They lost her twice in the helicopter,” he mumbled, trying to soften that blow as much as he could. 

The noise that slid out of Mrs. Jones’ mouth was slightly animalistic and extremely heartbreaking. She covered her hand over her mouth and shook her head. “Not my baby, not my baby, not my baby,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t you take my baby. You hear me?” She spoke up into the ceiling. “Don’t you take my baby.”

“Is she dead, daddy? Just tell me…” Mercedes put her head against his shoulder and held her breath.

“They got her back,” he squeezed his wife’s hand and spoke to his daughter directly. “They lost her twice but they got her back. Then they took her to this room downstairs to get her stable for surgery. Her heart kept giving out. And she still can’t breathe. They think she was drowning in her blood. Cause there’s a lot of blood in her lungs and in her stomach. Her um… her throat… her esophagus… it ruptured. That’s where the blood’s coming from. I uh… I talked to uh… a nurse. Quinn’s nurse. She gonna be taking care of her when she gets outta surgery. I talked to her a little while ago. She just wanted to know about how she was acting before ‘Cedes found her.”

“What’d you tell her?” Patrice asked.

“That she was being normal. She was being her normal self. A little mouthy and agitated, but normal.” He rubbed the top of his smooth, bald head and took a breath before saying what he had to say next. “They’re talking about calling the people.”

“What people?” Mercedes asked.

“...Child Services.”

“What?!” Patrice stood up. “ON WHO?! She’s sick! Why would they —“

“Sit down, honey. Sit down.” Jared waved his hand at her.

“I ain’t sittin’ nowhere! They gonna call the people on us?! Just ‘cause our daughter sick?! They can’t do that! They can’t take her away from us, Jared. She’ll never make it! Why they doing this?! She’s sick!”

“I guess…” Jared sighed. “I guess they called this specialist in to look at the scans of her throat. And he kept saying that she’s really sick. He said she’s VERY sick… and that this wasn’t a one time thing.”

“What do you mean?” Patrice wrinkled her eyebrows. “What do you mean it’s not a one time thing? He think somebody abusing her?! He think it’s us?! ‘Cause it’s Russel and Judy, not us! And I’m telling you, if they the reason this little girl gets taken off of us, imma be in jail.”

“Not abuse, it’s just…” Jared closed his eyes and tried to make enough sense of it to explain. “They said the only way this could happen is if she was throwing up.”

“Okay and she was. She had a stomach bug.” Patrice shrugged. “Why does that get the people called on us?”

“Because he said that this doesn’t happen from throwing up just once. He said that kinda rupture in her esophagus comes from at least six months. At least. And they say there ain’t no way she was throwing up that much without getting sick enough for someone to notice. They saying that she should’ve been got help.”

“I don’t understand, she hasn’t been… she hasn’t been throwing up. I woulda known. You know I watch her. You know I watch her, Jared. I woulda known if she was throwing up. I woulda known that.” Patrice sat back down and purses her lips hard, trying to keep herself together. “Mercedes Marie, I need you to tell me something. And I won’t get mad, I just need to know.”

“Yes, mom?” Mercedes looked her mother deep in the eye.

“Has Quinn been making herself throw up?”

“Not as far as I know,” she shook her head. “I mean, I know she used to. Like a long time ago, she used to. But she got help for that and she’s been okay. She’s been okay for a really long time.”

“How long?”

“I can’t say because I don’t know when she got help for it, but I know it’s been at least since before she had Beth.”

“Are you sure about that? You’re not telling me no lies?”

“No, mom.” Mercedes shook her head again. “Quinn’s been okay for a long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S.:
> 
> The Jones House is a real location in Lima. Google it if you’re curious about what it looks like. :)


	64. Who Knew?

**New iMessage**

**Tuesday, December 10**

**7:12 p.m.**

**RACHEL: **I’m here

**RACHEL: **Which floor

**iMessage**

**Tuesday, December 10**

**7:12 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: **Surgical floor. Its the pink floor just walk down the yellow hall and take the elevator

**MERCEDES: **Ask for directions

**RACHEL: **Ok

**MERCEDES: **Nvm I’ll come down n meet u. Its confusing getting up here

**RACHEL: **Ok waiting in lobby please hurry

Mercedes sat her phone on the empty chair beside her, stuffed her feet into her Nike slide-on sandals, then stood up for the first time in about an hour. Her back cracked as she stretched and allowed her body to feel how just how tired it actually was. She was drained, to say the least. All the crying and screaming made her tired physically, and worrying about Quinn sucked the life out of her emotionally as well. It had been a little over an hour since they got to the hospital and a little over an hour since they had gotten any news about Quinn’s condition. For all Mercedes knew, her best friend was still fighting for her life and still losing every ounce of blood she had in her body. She didn’t think it was fair how surgeons could leave families wondering like that.

Before she opened her mouth to speak, she glanced at her mother. Her mother was usually a pillar of strength and she wasn’t used to seeing her so run down and helpless. In fact, up until tonight, she could count on one hand how many times she had actually seen her mother cry. But sitting in the waiting room, hopelessly waiting for someone to come out and tell them that Quinn was okay took a toll on her mother and turned her into someone she didn’t recognize.

Mrs. Jones laid with her head slumped against her husband’s shoulder, eyes closed lightly but not really sleeping. She seemed content with the way her hand was wrapped up inside her husband’s, but her mind was everything except content. Her stomach churned as she ran through all the grave possibilities in her head; she felt nauseous when her mind wandered to the idea of Quinn dying. She just wanted to know what was going on in surgery. She just wanted to know if she should be preparing herself to bury her daughter or not.

“I’m gonna go get Rachel,” Mercedes said to her parents as she adjusted her shirt and pants that had ridden up a bit since she was sitting. “If they come out to tell us anything, tell them to wait until I get back.”

“Okay, baby.” Patrice sighed, never opening her eyes. She adjusted her position in the chair so she could lay on her husband’s shoulder a little more comfortably, and she sighed as he pressed a kiss to her hand.

Part of her wanted to sleep. Every time she got comfortable, her eyes would grow heavy and she’d shut them for a moment, thinking that trying to get some rest would be for the best. But every time she started to drift off into a quiet slumber, the image of Quinn lying face down in a pool of her own blood replayed in her mind and the words her husband used when he told her that Quinn died twice in the helicopter rang in her ears. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep until she knew Quinn was okay, she accepted that.

She couldn’t wait until the surgeon came out and told them that everything was fine and Quinn would be okay. She felt it, deep down in her gut. She knew that everything was going to be fine and by the end of the week, they’d be taking her home to nurse her back to health. She couldn’t wait until it was time for them to go back and see her. But more than anything, she couldn’t wait to ask the surgeon what else could have caused an esophageal rupture. Sure, they were telling them that the only thing that could have caused it was extensive vomiting, but that wasn’t the case. Quinn wasn’t throwing up, at least not while she was living with them. There was no way she’d let one of her children get so sick without noticing. There was no way Quinn was throwing up like that without her knowing.

God, she just wanted Quinn to be okay. She and her husband never meant to fall in love with her, honestly they didn’t. She never meant to take on yet another teenager in the middle of the school year, and never meant to love that teenager as if she gave birth to her. She and her husband had no idea what they were getting into...  
  


_ “Mommy.” Mercedes used her baby soft voice when she called her mother’s name, and Mrs. Jones’ radar was immediately on high alert. _

_She knew her daughter better than her daughter knew herself, she was proud of that fact. She knew her daughter so well that she knew Mercedes was about to ask her for something godly impossible. Mercedes picked up a knife and started helping her mother peel potatoes, another action that made her mother’s radar ping._

_ “Whatchu want, ‘Cedes?” She mumbled, dropping a peeled potato into a pot full of water. “You need some money? I ain’t got none right now, go ask Daddy to take you to the bank.”_

_ “I don’t need money.” Mercedes plopped a tiny potato into the pot and grabbed another. “I just have a question.”_

_ “I know you got a question. Ask it already.” Patrice turned on the stove so the potatoes could start boiling. “Hurry up, too. I’m busy. You know them potatoes gotta boil real good ‘fore I mash ‘em.”_

_ “So…” Mercedes finished peeling the last potato, dropped it into the pot, and took a deep breath. Both her parents were usually very understanding, it was something she loved the most about them. There was nothing in this world that her parents didn’t know about her, and they made her comfortable enough to tell them anything. But this was something far bigger than anything she had ever asked of them. Something far bigger than she could even wrap her head around…_

_ “So what, ‘Cedes? Come on. Spit it out. I ain’t got time today. I’m tired. You know the doctor done put me on that new medicine. Whatever you gonna ask me, just ask me.” _

_ “Well…” Mercedes took another deep breath. “So I have this friend. And I feel really bad for her, okay? She just walks around school so sad all the time and people are really mean to her anymore. And I just feel bad for her, ma. I feel really bad.”_

_ “So whatchu want me to do? You want me to call up that school and talk to somebody? Sit her down and tell her ‘bout defending herself?” Patrice swept the potato skins into the trash and wiped the countertop with a Clorox wipe. “I ain’t that girl’s mama, I can’t do nothing to help her.”_

_ “See, that’s the thing,” Mercedes sat at the table and drummed her fingers on her kneecap. “...So her parents kicked her out. They kicked her out and —“_

_ “Uh-uh,” Patrice shook her head vehemently. There was no changing her mind about this one. She knew where her daughter was headed and the answer was a hard, fast, strict, unchanging NO. “No, Mercedes. No.”_

_ “But mom, just listen!”_

_ “I ain’t listening to nothing else, the answer is no. Now get up outta my kitchen before you make me mad. I can’t even believe you would —“_

_ “She has nowhere else to go! She’s been wearing these dirty clothes all week, she’s been falling asleep in Glee club! I don’t even think she has a brush to do her hair. She’s literally homeless right now, Mom. She’s staying with this guy — the father of her baby, actually — but his family is —“ _

_“This girl got a baby?! Hell no. Hell no!”_

_ “Well she’s pregnant! That’s why her parents kicked her out. She had sex one time and got pregnant and her parents threw her out on the street. Please, mom. Please. She has nowhere else to go. She’s literally pregnant and Mom, she’s been losing weight because she’s so stressed out. She’s pregnant, she’s not supposed to be losing weight! But she is. She has nowhere else to go and she really needs help. And we can help her, Mom. I know we can. She just needs somewhere to stay. That’s all. She just needs somewhere to sleep at night. Somewhere safe. And it’s not like we don’t have an extra room with Mykel being gone and all.”_

_ “Mercedes…” Patrice closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the ceiling. “You’re giving me a headache. Now I said no. Alright? I know you wanna help this girl ‘cause you got a big heart, but we can’t take her in. Okay? I don’t know nothing about this girl. I don’t know how her folks is gonna take to her staying with somebody else, I don’t know if she got behavioral problems, I don’t know nothing about her. And it’s not just me I gotta think about here. I’d have to discuss it with your Daddy and it’s just too much. Think about what you’re asking.” She put her fingertips under Mercedes’ chin and lifted her head. “I know you wanna help her, squish. I know you do. But it’s just a lot.”_

_ “Then can she at least come to dinner one night this week?” Mercedes sighed, officially giving up hope. “She’s losing a lot of weight and I’m really worried about her. I’d feel better if she had one decent meal.”_

_ “She ain’t been eating?” Patrice stirred the potatoes on the stove. “What kinda place she stayin’ at where they won’t let her eat? You sure she ain’t been eating?”_

_ “I don’t think so. The guy she’s living with… I guess his family is Jewish and they’re kinda strict about what they let her eat. But honestly? I just don’t think she’s comfortable there. She can’t sleep, she can’t eat… she literally scarfs down the lunch in school because she’s so hungry.” _

_“And her parents just threw her out? Just like that?”_

_ “Just like that. She told them she was pregnant and her dad set a timer on the microwave and told her to pack as much stuff as she can in five minutes and get out. She’s been bouncing around. She lived with one guy first but then everything got messed up there, so then she stayed on the streets for a few days. She slept on the bench outside of the dollar store for two whole nights, Mom. Then she moved in with the guy with now and it’s still not a good situation. I just know that we could offer her better.”_

_ “What’s this girl’s name?”_

_ “Quinn. Quinn Fabray. She’s rough around the edges, but she’s really nice and —“_

_ “Fabray… like that company downtown?”_

_ “Yeah, her dad owns that.”_

_ “I ain’t liked that motherfucker since he got your Daddy that ticket for having his hazards on outside the building.” Patrice rolled her eyes. “I tell you what. Imma talk to your Daddy tonight. See what he thinks. I ain’t saying yes, so don’t go get this girl’s hopes up. But I ain’t saying no either. Lemme just talk to your Daddy.”_

_ “Thank you so much, Mom.” Mercedes wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and squeezed. Her mother wasn’t expressly saying “yes”, but she knew that she was tugging on her heartstrings and anytime her mother started to feel bad for someone, it was game over. She knew that they’d give Quinn a place to stay. Her parents were just too good to say no. “Trust me on this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think we could actually help her. She’s good. She’s rough, but she’s good. Trust me.”_

_ “I trust you, baby.” Mrs. Jones patted her daughter on the butt, then pressed her lips to her temple. “I can’t get mad at you for having a good heart. But you know it’s going to be a big undertaking if your Daddy says yes.”_

_ “She literally just needs somewhere to shower and sleep. She wouldn’t be any trouble, she —“_

_ “I ain’t gonna let her just stay upstairs and not eat, and she can’t be living here and not going to school. So that’s gon’ be two of you that I gotta make dinner for, get up for school in the morning, stay on top of the homework and stuff…” Patrice sighed. “You always dragging me into some shit.”_

_ “Mom, I promise she won’t be any trouble. I promise. She just doesn’t have anywhere else to go and I know that we could help her. I know we can.” _

With her eyes still closed, Patrice grinned softly at the memory and tried to use it to replace the one she had of Quinn lying on the bathroom floor.

_ Mercedes was so sure back then _ , she thought to herself. _ She just knew that it was the right thing to do. She was so sure of herself. _That was one of the things she loved the most about her daughter. She had a big heart and she led with it, even when she should have been airing on the side of caution. She admired that about Mercedes and hoped that quality would never go away.

“It’s been an hour and a half,” she whispered to her husband as soon as Mercedes was out of the room and far enough away that she wouldn’t hear anything. “Anything that takes this long probably ain’t good, huh?”

“Just keep praying.” Mr. Jones stroked his thumb across her fingers as he held her hand and tried his best to reassure her. But the truth was that she was right. He wasn’t a doctor, but he remembered just enough from general classes in dental school to know that an hour in surgery was not a good sign. It meant that whatever happened to Quinn wasn’t an easy fix. And God, he and his family just wanted it to be something easy.

“What are we gonna say to ‘Cedes when they come out here and tell us that she dead? How do we hold her up through that?” Mrs. Jones asked, a soft tear rolling down her tired cheek. “She ain’t never had to deal with nothing like that before.”

“We don’t have to tell her anything, love. We don’t have to tell her anything because Quinn’s okay. She’s okay. We’re gonna take her back home at the end of this, we’re gonna make sure she’s okay, we’re gonna take her to a doctor that knows how to deal with whatever she’s going through, and it’s going to be fine. We don’t have to tell ‘Cedes anything.” The way her husband’s voice sounded when it fell upon her ears was almost enough to comfort her. It was almost enough to make her believe everything he said would come true.

“I can’t lose her, Jare.” Patrice shook her head slowly. “I can’t lose her. I’ll be trying to hold ‘Cedes up through her best friend’s death but I ain’t even gonna be able to hold myself up. I can’t lose her. That’s our daughter, y’know? Love her too much.”

“I know, love. I know. That’s why we keep praying. Someone bigger than us is gonna take care of her. Someone bigger than us is gonna see her through.”

“You ever think it was gonna come to this?” She picked her head up finally and tried for the millionth time tonight to pull herself together. “When she was standin’ in ‘Kel’s bedroom just listening to the rules, you ever think it was gonna come to this? You think we was gonna love her like that?”

“No,” Jared admitted with a slight smile. “I thought she was gonna be gone by the end of that week. But leave it to ‘Cedes to drag us into some shit that we can’t get out of.”

“I know,” Patrice laughed softly. “She swore it was just temporary, now look at us…”

_ “Towels are in this closet here,” Mrs. Jones stopped at the closet that was at the top of their steps, and stepped aside so Quinn could make her way up. She pulled the closet door open and grabbed a clean towel off the top rack and a washcloth off the bottom. “I wash ‘em every Thursday so make sure it’s in the basket on Thursday if it’s dirty.”_

_ Quinn just nodded and squeezed the straps to her duffle bag. Patrice knew the second she saw her that this was going to be more than temporary. Mercedes brought her home today after school and she stood in their house like she was a small fish in a big pond. She looked around at everything like she was trying to make herself familiar, but every time someone spoke to her, it looked like she might cry. She held onto her bag like her life depended on it. She held onto that bag like it was exactly what it was — the only things left in the world she had._

_ “Imma finish clearing this room out.” Patrice continued down the hallway and Quinn followed her slowly. She flicked the lightswitch on and put Quinn’s towel and washcloth on the bed. “Imma put the rest of our son’s stuff in the basement tomorrow, but the sheets is clean. I changed the sheets this morning. ‘Cedes is usually in bed by 9:30-10:00. I’ll come in and wake you up for school if you need me to.”_

_ Again, Quinn just nodded and took in the scenery of her new bedroom. She felt lost. When Mercedes approached her with the idea of staying at her house, she was grateful. She was grateful to get out of Puck’s house and grateful to have a new place where she would hopefully feel safe enough to sleep at night. But it was officially starting to set in now. She had to stay with Mercedes now. She had to stay here because she had nowhere else to go. She felt so utterly alone in this world and the only time she was reminded that she wasn’t was when she felt a flutter in her stomach._

_ “You can put your bag down, Sugar.” Mrs. Jones said as she started fluffing the pillows on the bed. “And you can take a shower if you need to. Dinner’s about ready to come out the oven too, if you hungry.” Like she’d been doing since she stepped foot into the house, Quinn just nodded. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Just holler if you need anything.”_

_ Mrs. Jones walked toward the door and grabbed the doorknob to pull it shut behind her but just as it was about to shut all the way, Quinn grabbed it and looked at her with tears in her beautiful hazel eyes._

_ “...Thank you.” She whispered and held Mrs. Jones’ gaze._

_ It was then when Patrice realized exactly what she was doing. It was then, looking into the eyes of a lost, scared, broken little girl that she realized just how much the bed and the shower and the meal meant to her. And suddenly, she was happy to help._

_ “You’re welcome, sweetie.” Patrice touched her hand and Quinn’s jaw tightened when she did. She wasn’t used to being touched so gingerly, wasn’t used to someone using their touch to comfort her. It made her uncomfortable, but she liked it. “...You ever wanna talk about anything… just lemme know.”_

_ Quinn bit her bottom lip and took a deep breath. Something about Mrs. Jones made her feel comfortable. She didn’t know if it was the way warmth radiated off her existence. Maybe it was the way she felt as though she genuinely cared. Whatever it was, it made Quinn feel like this was somewhere she could actually relax. It made her feel like she didn’t have to run anymore._

_ “The boy…” Quinn looked down at the ground as she spoke. Mrs. Jones had to listen carefully so she could make out exactly what she was saying. Quinn spoke like she was afraid of something. And Mrs. Jones wanted to find out exactly what that was. “The one I’m… pregnant to… I—“_

_ Quinn stopped and dropped the subject instantly as she heard two knocks on the doorframe. She glanced up to see who it was; her body stiffened when she saw Mercedes’ dad in the doorway. She closed her mouth like she hadn’t even been talking and kept her head geared towards the ground._

_ “Just seeing how things are going up here,” Mr. Jones chimed. “How you settling in there, Quinn?” Quinn nodded at him. He noticed that she refused to make eye contact with him, but he decided not to press it. “The timer on the stove went off.”_

_ “Just take it out the oven, babe. I’ll be down in a minute.” Mrs. Jones patted her husband’s chest to shoo him away, then turned her attention back to Quinn. “What were you saying, sweetie?” _

_ Quinn looked at the ground for a few more moments before she picked her head up and made eye contact with Mrs. Jones again. _

_ “...How do you work your shower?” _

“You remember how she was scared of me?” Jared asked. “She wouldn’t even look me in the eye, she got all quiet every time I came in the room.”

“Yeah, and we couldn’t figure out why she was scared for the life of us.” Patrice sighed. “...Guess it makes sense now.”

“I wish she would’ve told us what that boy did to her the first time she was with us.” He sighed too. “Maybe then we wouldn’t be here.”

“You think what he did contributed to this?” Patrice looked at him. “You think this is ‘cause of what he did to her?”

“I think Quinn’s whole life contributed to this.” Jared ran his fingers across his head as if he had hair to run them through. “I think what he did might have just pushed her over the edge.”

* * *

I watched the lights on the elevator count down from thirteen, and my leg was shaking. I haven’t had an anxiety attack in years, not since I started taking this one pill, but I was having one in that moment. My heart was beating a thousand miles a minute, my leg was shaking even though I was standing, and I couldn’t even type on my phone because my hands were trembling.

_ Eleven… _ **ding. ** _ Ten… _ **ding. ** _ Nine… _ **ding. ** _ Eight… _ **ding.**

It had eight more floors to get through before it got to me on the ground level, and it was moving at maybe five seconds per floor. Five seconds per floor, but it felt like five years and I had to fight the urge to find a map and take the stairs. I didn’t care if it was floor number or five or floor number fifty-five. I would’ve ran up a million staircases just to get to her.

I hoped nobody asked me how I got to where I was, because I wouldn’t be able to tell them. I sort of remembered putting on my coat. I sort of remembered speeding down the highway. I sort of remembered running through the parking lot when I got here. But I didn’t remember anything about the moments before that, which kind of scared me. Because what if this was the last memory I get to make of this moment? What if when I got up to the floor they had her on, they came out and told us the unthinkable? They’ll tell us that they did everything they could but their best wasn’t enough and I’d be attending a funeral by the end of next week. If this was the last memory I got to make of this moment and I couldn’t even remember it? Well, I’d never quite forgive myself.

The elevator doors pulled apart when it made one last ding, and I had never been more excited to see Mercedes in my entire life. I couldn’t feel my legs because they were shaking so bad, but I managed to run into the elevator as soon as I saw her because I didn’t want to waste a single minute.

She pressed a button with a pink number six in the middle of it until it lit up and grabbed onto the rainbow colored railing that went all the way around it. She said that getting up to the floor they had her on was confusing, but what’s confusing about pressing the number six? All she had to do was tell me which floor they had her on and I wouldn’t have had to wait for her to come get me. I could’ve ran up the stairs.

“What are they saying?” I broke the palpable silence between us, but kept my back turned towards her and watched the lights as the elevator climbed the floors again. “Are they saying what happened? What caused it?”

“Not anything for sure yet. They said she threw up and there was blood and a tear in her throat, but I guess she’s been going into cardiac arrest and —“

“Cardiac arrest?!” I turned around and faced her and I couldn’t figure out how the hell she looked so calm. She didn’t have an ounce of worry on her face, not even a trace of tears. Did she not care about Quinn at all? “She had a heart attack?!”

“I guess, I don’t really know.” She shook her head and covered her face like this has been the most stressful night of her life. And maybe it has, I don’t know. I don’t know if she’s ever been through anything like this before, but I haven’t. I haven’t and I don’t know what to expect, but I am acting a little more concerned than she is.

I closed my eyes and took a really deep breath before I turned around again. I knew that it was serious. I knew that it had to be pretty serious because they airlifted her here and you don’t do that for people unless they’re really bad off. But I didn’t expect to hear that she’s been having a heart attack… _ What have I done? _

“Rachel.” Mercedes stepped closer to me and put her hand on my shoulder. I didn’t want her to touch me, though. I didn’t want her to comfort me. I didn’t deserve to be comforted. Not whenever the last memory of me Quinn would have is me cheating on her. “It’s… it’s bad, okay?”

“How bad?” My voice broke and my jaw started trembling like my fingers, but I didn’t want Mercedes to see me cry. I kept my back to her and tried my hardest to keep myself strong. “What the hell happened, Mercedes? How did you find her?”

“I don’t know what happened. Nobody knows what happened. She was fine, I swear. She was fine. She and my mom had an argument and she said something really messed up to my mom, so I went upstairs to talk to her about it and I knocked on the bathroom door but she wouldn’t answer. So I went inside and… Rachel, I’ve never seen anything like that. Ever. And I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head. She was just LAYING there. She was just laying there… and there was so much blood. I honestly thought she shot herself or something because that was SO much blood.”

“Oh God…” I swallowed whatever vomit rose up in the back of my throat and put my hand on my stomach as if I could prevent more from coming up. I had to put my hand against the wall to steady myself. “So they’re not saying anything? They just have her back in surgery and they’re not saying anything?”

“Not yet. We’ve just been waiting. We’ve just been —“

“I should’ve been there,” I whispered, more to myself than to her.

“You didn’t want to see that. Trust me. It looked really bad.”

“I should have been there! You don’t get it!” I held onto the wall with both my hands now and put my head down. I didn’t want Mercedes to see me cry, but I couldn’t help myself anymore. My shoulders bobbed up and down, and I cried so hard that nothing came out of me except low breaths. “She’s gonna die hating me… she’s gonna die hating me… I love her so much and she’s gonna die hating me… Oh god…”

“Rachel, look at me.” She grabbed me by my shoulders and spun me around so that I faced her. She wanted me to look at her but I couldn’t. I kept my head down and my eyes were too misty with tears to look at her. “I don’t care what happened between you and Quinn. I don’t care who you kissed or why you did it, all I care about is that Quinn gets better. And if she does die…” She swallows hard after saying that and finally, a tear slips out of her eye too. “If she does die tonight… I know she would want you here. She loves you too. Don’t ever think that she doesn’t. I know Quinn. And I know for a fact that she loves you.”

“I just need her to be okay.” I wiped my tears as the elevator doors slid open again. “I need her to be okay. I love her so much… and I need her to be okay. I need her to know that I’m sorry. And I never meant to hurt her.”

“She knows.” Mercedes laid her arm around my shoulder as we walked off the elevator and down a hallway which animal footprints on the floor. “Believe me, she knows.”

As we walked down the hallway and into a lobby that was pink, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew that I wasn’t going to see Quinn when I walked into the waiting room, but my heart thundered in my chest like I was going to. I tried to wrap my head around what Mercedes said. I thought about how she was laying on the floor in a puddle of blood. I thought about how she wasn’t breathing. I thought about how she was all alone when it happened. I thought about how I should have been there with her when it happened, or at least with Mercedes’ family when they found her. I thought about how it might feel to see her like that and my head started spinning. It almost felt like my body believed that I was going to see that.

We walked into the waiting room finally, and I looked up at the sign that said “Emergency Surgery Department.” My stomach started to hurt. I thought I had enough time to process all of this on the drive down here, but seeing that sign made it so much more real. Quinn was in surgery. It was an emergency. She was critically ill.

There were tons of empty chairs in the waiting room, and the only full section was occupied by Mercedes’ parents and a woman in a gray suit. Mercedes took her arm from around me when she wanted to move a little faster, and practically sprinted over to where her parents and the lady were. I picked up my own pace just a little.

“What’s going on?” Mercedes asked her parents and looked at the lady. “Who are you?”

I lingered in the back because I didn’t feel like it was my place to be involved. She didn’t look like a doctor, so I doubted it an update of any kind. I didn’t need to listen. It wasn’t my business to listen. But I really couldn’t help it.

“I’m Courtney Kirkland, and I’m with child services of Allen County.” She seemed really professional and down to business, which made me a little nervous. _ Why was child services here? Did they think somebody hurt Quinn? _

“You guys don’t seriously think we hurt Quinn, do you? Because we didn’t. If anything, we helped her. She came to us because her mom —“

“Mercedes, sit down and hush your mouth.” Her dad mumbled. “She’s just asking questions.”

Mercedes glanced at me, then motioned with her head for me to sit down next to her. I unzipped my coat since it was warm, took it off, tucked it on the cushion of my chair, then sat down. I unlocked my phone to pretend to be busy, but I was really listening in reality.

“I have here that your address is 950 Leland Avenue in Lima, is that correct?” The social worker asked.

“Yes ma’am.” Mercedes’ dad seemed to take the lead on answering, and her mom looked worn down.

“And is Lucy’s address the same?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay,” she checked off a box on the stack of papers she had on her clipboard. “And do you rent, own, or rent to own your home?”

“We own it. Bought it back before we had our son.”

“And you’re a dentist, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And what do you do for work, ma’am?” She looked at Mrs. Jones, who finally picked her tired head up.

“I stay at home with the kids.” Her voice was gravelly and raspy like she was talking through the exhaustion.

“Okay,” the social worker checked off another box and it kind of annoyed me how methodical she was being. It almost felt like she was treating them like criminals before even figuring out if they did anything wrong. “So can you tell me about Lucy? How long has she been in your custody? How involved are her biological parents? What kind of child is she?”

“Um…” Mr. Jones cleared his throat. “We don’t have her legally. I mean, she’s not our child legally. We didn’t go through court and get custody. She and her parents have a rocky relationship and she just came to stay with us for a while. We’ve had her for about two or three months. Her parents aren’t involved at all. Sometimes her mother will send her some money, but that’s not often.”

“I see,” she scribbles that down in her notebook. “And what kind of child is she? Is she happy? Thriving? What does she like to do?”

“She’s a good girl,” Mrs. Jones finally spoke and I saw her face light up a little bit at the opportunity to talk about Quinn, which I thought was really sweet. She was loved by the Joneses, I could see that. “She makes straight As, takes honors classes. She’s involved in the Glee club at school and she really likes to perform. She’s really sweet. She’s a little… she’s mouthy. She can get a little outta line sometimes, but she good. She got good manners and she’s always asking me if I need help around the house. She ain’t… she ain’t the happiest child, but she got dealt a raw deal in life, so.”

“And when you say a ‘raw deal’, what exactly do you mean?”

“She was raped sometime last year. Some boy she go to school with was raping on her. And she got pregnant from that. So her parents kicked her out and that’s how she came to be with us the first time.”

“Okay, and has she gotten any help for the rape? How is she coping with that?”

“She got a therapist. She goes to see her therapist twice a week — we make sure she do — and she’s on medicine to help her out. She spent a little bit of time in a psychiatric hospital last summer, but she’s been doing okay ever since. Some days are bad, but other days… you know.”

“So aside from the rape, do you know what other issues she was working on while inside the hospital?”

“Uh, no. Just that, mostly. I mean she was working on every —“

“She really struggled with having a baby to her rapist,” I spoke up because I didn’t like staying silent was the right thing to do. 

They didn’t know Quinn the way I knew Quinn. I could tell they didn’t just by what they said about her being okay. Quinn was the furthest thing from okay. I can’t blame them for not knowing, because even I didn’t know how far it went. But I was the closest person to her. I knew almost everything there was to know about her. How could I stay silent when someone was questioning them like that? Especially when I knew the answers?

“She struggled with that and with her parents a whole lot. She and her mom just didn’t get along and her dad… well he was pretty awful, too.” I grabbed onto my necklace that I still wore. I brushed my thumb along the “Q” and tried my hardest not to think about how Quinn could easily go from being someone I know to someone I knew.

“Thank you,” Courtney Kirkland nodded her head in my direction. “And what’s your name, for the record?”

“Rachel Berry.”

“And your relationship to Lucy is…?”

“I’m her friend. I’m her really close friend.” I had to really try not to cry when I said that, because it hurt. It hurt that I couldn’t say she was my girlfriend anymore.

“She’s Quinn’s girlfriend,” Mercedes spoke in the loudest voice between the four of us, and I started to wish that I had her confidence. She said that as if she just stated a fact. Like someone asked her what two plus two is and she answered four. “She has a bad relationship with her mom because she’s gay and her mom hates her for it.”

“Okay,” Courtney mumbled. “And Rachel, how long have you and Lucy been involved?”

“Two months.” I held onto my necklace for strength. “It’s funny, it… it seems like longer, but that’s it. Two months.”

“Thank you for answering that.” She flipped the page on her clipboard and returned her attention back to the Joneses. “I’d like to ask about tonight if that’s okay.”

“Whatever you need to know.” Mr. Jones nodded.

“So the last time you saw Lucy was when?”

“About 1:00 this afternoon. She came home from school early because she wasn’t feeling well.” Mrs. Jones sat up straight as though these were questions that she was fully prepared to answer.

“And she’s been sick for how long?”

“She been complaining since Sunday. I thought she was just tired ‘cause they came back from Pittsburgh. They had a show choir competition and I figured she was tired from traveling. But she still ain’t feel good so I kept her home on Monday.”

“And which one of you authorized her leaving school today?”

“Neither of us, actually. She just left on her own terms.” I winced when Mrs. Jones said that because I didn’t think it was going to go over very well. “She got a car, so she can just go as she pleases. But she suspended for it, so.”

“And is that common? Does Lucy always leave school on her own terms?”

“No,” Mrs. Jones shook her head. “Never, actually. So that’s how I knew she must have been really sick.”

“Right. So how was she when she came home? Did she appear sick to you? Any fever? Chills? Nausea? Sweating?”

“Well she came through the door upset. I went to go calm her down and see what was wrong, but she got mouthy with me and said a few choice words. So we argued about that. I went up to her room and we argued.”

“And what kind of punishment did you enact?”

“Nothing at the time. I just gave her a warning and let her stay in her room until she calmed herself down. I ain’t think she was capable of having a good conversation when she was upset like that, so I ain’t push her.”

“And what was she upset about?”

“I ain’t got no clue. I ain’t get a chance to talk to her about it ‘cause this mess happened.”

“I see…” Courtney flipped to the next page. “You spoke about having another child? A son?”

“Yes ma’am,” Mrs. Jones cleared her throat softly. “We have a son named Mykel, and then Mercedes is our daughter.”

“Okay, good. And if you don’t mind my asking, what type of discipline did you use on your children growing up?”

“Time out, mostly.” I held my breath when Mrs. Jones answered, because I had a feeling in my gut and I knew where this was going. I knew where it was going and I couldn’t stop it. All I could do was sit and watch it happen. “If they did something really bad, then they got a spanking. But we had good kids, so it was time out mostly.”

“And what constituted as ‘really bad’? What type of behavior warranted a spanking?”

“I dunno, if they was mouthing off they’d get popped in the mouth. Running out in the street, they get popped on the butt. Spitting, hitting, getting in trouble in school, cussing… things like that, I guess. I dunno, it’s been years.” She shrugged.

“And you stated that Lucy was ‘mouthy’ when she arrived home from school today, yes? Is it fair to say you were angry when she did this?”

“She was mouthy and I was mad, but hold on.” Mrs. Jones held one finger up. “You ain’t about to make this into something it ain’t. I ain’t put my hands on Quinn today or ever. Now if you looking for a reason for why this happened, then come on. I’m with you on it, we need to get to the bottom of this. But this ain’t happen ‘cause someone in my house was beating on her. No ma’am. Quinn might have been abused, but it wasn’t going on under my roof. Nope.”

“Quinn loves it at the Joneses house,” I said softly. “Me and her always talk about it and she loves it. She wishes she could stay forever. They would never hurt her. Ever.”

“Okay.” Courtney flipped to the last page and sighed like she hated her job or something. “I just have one more thing to ask you about. Can you describe the state Lucy was in when she was found?”

“Our daughter found her, actually.” Mr. Jones spoke up. “Mercedes was the one who found her. But anything you have to ask her, you can ask us. We know her story. I’m not comfortable with you questioning my daughter. And that goes for Rachel, too. These girls are minors. They haven’t done anything wrong. So any further questions… just ask us.”

“I just need to figure out what was happening when she was found, that’s all sir.” She tried to smile at him but Mr. Jones wasn’t having it. He held strong and I almost thought the social worker was going to falter.

“It’s okay, dad. I can answer.” Mercedes assured him and used that same confidence in her voice. “I went upstairs to talk to Quinn about the fight she and my mom had. She was in the bathroom, so I knocked. I knocked a few times but she didn’t answer, so I opened the door myself and that’s when I saw her.”

“And what exactly did you see?”

“She was laying there. She was face down, but her head was like… pointing to the left almost. Her cheek and half her nose and mouth were against the floor. And she wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving.”

I felt sick hearing the details. It was strange because at some point, I had wanted to hear all the details. I wanted to know where Quinn was when they found her, what she was doing and if she was breathing. I wanted to know everything there was to know. But now that I was actually hearing them, it sort of made me sick.

“And there was blood on the floor?”

“Yes. There was a lot of blood on the floor. And —“

“How much blood would you say?” She stopped writing. “Enough to fill up a two liter soda bottle? Enough to fill up two? Enough to fill up half?”

“Probably enough to fill up one and a half. There was a lot of it. It was all over the floor. It was on the floor, on the rug, in the toilet, in the sink… it was everywhere.” I had to close my eyes hearing they. Something about Quinn bleeding out and lying on the floor alone made me want to cry.

“And was there anything else in the toilet? Any indication that she had been vomiting prior?”

“I didn’t look. All I did was drop to my knees and try to wake her up. I shook her for a second and then I called my mom.”

“And that’s when you got there, Mrs. Jones?”

“Yes. I ran upstairs and I saw her there, too. She was still laying face down, so I grabbed her and turned her over to see if she was breathing. I pulled her into my lap like this,” Mrs. Jones started motioning with her hands to tell the story. “I pulled her into my lap and turned her over and called her name. She didn’t respond, so I called my husband.”

“And when I got there, I took over.” Mr. Jones started explaining his side of the story. “I started doing CPR on her and told my wife to call the ambulance.”

“And did you do mouth to mouth resuscitation or just chest compressions?”

“I was gonna do mouth to mouth, but her jaw was shut. I had to pry her jaw open. It was like, clenched or something. I thought she was having a seizure or something. But I got her mouth open. I got her mouth open and I was about to do mouth to mouth, but she had blood in it. I mean, she had CLOTS of blood in her mouth. I had to scoop the clots out.”

“She had blood in her mouth?” I asked Mercedes, feeling my stomach squeezing so tight that I couldn’t breathe. “You didn’t tell me she had blood in her mouth… why didn’t you tell me she had blood in her mouth?” I stood up and looked at Mercedes like she betrayed me.

“When I told you she was bleeding from her mouth, I thought you would —“ She grabbed my arm and tried to calm me down, but I pulled away. “Rachel, come on.”

“No!” I back away from her and eye the garbage can across the room. “You didn’t tell me she had blood in her mouth… she had blood in her mouth, Mercedes… and I wasn’t there…”

“Rachel, it’s okay. It’s —“

“I’m gonna be sick.” I mumble with my mouth only halfway open.

“What?” Mercedes asked, but I was already across the room.

I grabbed the rim of the garbage can, opened my mouth, and let everything in my stomach just come out.

* * *

_ “Hang another unit of blood, just to be on the safe side. I have two more sutures to put in and then you can take her off ecmo.” The only female doctor in the room speaks softly to the rest of them who are helping her take care of me._

_ “Good work, Dr. Barnes. I don’t know how you do it. I didn’t think this little girl was gonna pull through.” One of the nurses hooks a bag of blood into my IV and it kind of grosses me out a little bit, having someone else’s blood in my body._

_ “She’s not out of the woods yet,” Dr. Barnes finishes stitching my throat off and eyeballs her work. “She’s gonna have a long recovery. Parents say she’s a singer… I dunno how much singing she’ll be doing anymore.”_

_ “Hey. At least she’s alive.” The nurse replies._

_ “I just want to know what makes a beautiful little girl like this… destroy her body.” She looks down at my face and smiles behind her mask. “She’s awfully pretty.”_

_ Listen, doctor. I know you don’t understand it right now and maybe you’ll never understand it, but if your life was as out of control as mine has been lately, maybe you’d get it. Maybe you’d understand if you had a dad who hates you and a mother who can’t be bothered to defend you. Maybe you’d understand if you have to live with a family that probably only takes care of you because they feel sorry for you. Maybe if you were a gay teenager trying to navigate through life with a baby by a man who raped you, you’d get it. And maybe if the love of your life cheated on you, you would understand me. Maybe if you kissed your therapist and ruined the last good thing in your life, you’d want a little control too. _

_ My life is so messy right now… and I didn’t mean to do this to myself, I swear I didn’t mean it. I just wanted some control over what happens to me. I just wanted to have a say so in the things that go on in my life. I just wanted to know that if I threw up, I would step on the scale and be a couple pounds lighter. That’s all I wanted. Just a little bit of control. I never meant for this to happen to me._

_ But maybe it happened for a reason. Maybe I was given a second chance. Maybe this is my chance to finally escape from all of it… and maybe I should take it._

_ Why should I lie here on this operating table and fight for a life I don’t even want to live anymore? Bailey’s gone and Rachel’s gone and Russel and Judy hate me and the Joneses are going to get rid of me for cussing. Puck’s still around. Beth’s got Shelby. What am I even needed for?_

_ Why should I fight for this life if I don’t even want to live it?_

_ “Doctor, her stats are dropping!” The nurse yells as the monitors that I’m hooked up to start beeping like crazy. “Her BP’s through the roof.”_

_ “Restart ecmo and charge the paddles to 250, she’s tachycardic.” The doctor barks her orders and the other nurse hands her the paddles. “Clear!” When they shock me, my body jolts really bad and I’m glad that I’m asleep otherwise it probably would have hurt. “Come on, kiddo. Come on. Don’t do this. You came so far…”_

_ They shock me again and I think it’s time for me to go. I don’t want to live this life anymore. Everyone will be okay without me, I know they will. Mom and Dad still have Mercedes to dote on. Russel and Judy have Frannie. Beth has Shelby. Mercedes will become best friends with Tina and Rachel will be okay with Finn and Kurt. I won’t make a difference if I go. They’ll be sad for a little while but it’s nothing they can’t get over. They’ll be fine without me. I don’t make a difference either way. It’s time for me to go. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of living like I’m constantly at war within myself. This just isn’t worth it anymore._

_ While the monitors are still beeping like crazy, I leave the operating room and walk down the hallway. I just want to see everyone one last time before I go. I want to look at them one last time and know that they loved me as best as they could while I was here on earth, but it’s time for them to let me go._

_ I walk up the hallway and drag my finger along the wall as I walk. The floor is cold underneath of my feet and I don’t know what happened to my fuzzy socks. My gown is still perfectly intact and I guess they wiped off the blood because my face is white again even though my hair is still sticky. My chest still burns and my throat feels horrible, but it’ll all be over soon. I think that wherever I go, I won’t be in pain. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?_

_ I round the corner and turn into the waiting room. There’s Mom, there’s Dad, there’s Mercedes, and there’s…_

_ Rachel?!_

_ Rachel came?!_

_ I run over to them as fast as I can and throw myself against her body because I really missed her! I missed her, I missed kissing her, I missed hugging her, I missed the way she smells… I know she kissed Finn, but I missed her so much and maybe I don’t forgive her, but I kissed her. I’ve been so alone..._

_ I wrap my arms around her as she sits, but she doesn’t budge and that’s when I remember that she can’t see me._

_ “Are you cold all of a sudden?” She asks Mercedes._

_ “Not really.” Mercedes replies and hands Rachel her jacket. “You know you can go home, Rach. We might not hear anything for a while. I’ll text you and keep you updated.”_

_ “I’m not going anywhere.” Rachel curls up in the chair she’s sitting in and rests her head against the wall. “Quinn needs me here.”_

_ “Why don’t you two go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat before they close?” Dad reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a twenty dollar bill. “You two need to eat. It could be a while.”_

_ “I’m not hungry,” Mercedes sighs._

_ “Me either.” Rachel sighs too. _

_ They all look so sad. Mom’s eyes are puffy and Dad’s got permanent frown lines by his mouth. Mercedes won’t pick her head up and Rachel’s eyes are really red. They all look like they’re so sad to be here. Are they sad because of me? Because if so, they don’t need to be sad. I’ll be fine where I’m going. I won’t be suffering anymore. I won’t be a stranger in my own head and I won’t make things hard for everyone. They can let me go. I’ll be fine._

_ “Remember when she made that list in Glee Club? And she called herself a hoe?” Mercedes fights through a laugh when she says that._

_ Rachel purses her lips together to avoid laughing too, but she fails. She laughs hard and loud. “She was horrible back then, oh my god.” She shakes her head and laughs so hard there are tears in her eyes. “No, remember when she beat the shit out of Santana with that pillow for saying something about Beth? At your sleepover?”_

_ “She really did beat the shit out of her, didn’t she?!” Mercedes nudged Rachel with her elbow and laughed harder. “Or when we were at Cedar Point and a bug flew in her mouth on Millennium Force?!”_

_ “She spent the whole ride coughing!” Rachel wipes the tears that fell from her laughing. “When we got off, she was trying to fight every mosquito that she saw because she said they were trying to kill her!”_

_ “Ah, Quinn,” Mercedes shook her head as her laughter winded down. “She’s a mess, isn’t she?” _

_ “She is…” Rachel looked up at the ceiling, still smiling. “But she’s our mess, you know?” _

_ Mercedes nods and puts her head up against Rachel’s shoulder. Rachel just keeps looking up at the ceiling, but she doesn’t seem bothered by Mercedes laying on her. They have each other. They’ve got each other and I never thought I’d see this day. _

_ “You know, the first time she came to stay with us, she wouldn’t look my dad in the eye? She was so afraid of him.” Mercedes says, loud enough for everyone to hear her. _

_ “Really?” Rachel asks. _

_ “Really,” Dad leans forward in his chair to join in the conversation. “It took three weeks for the girl to say a word to me. I figured she just had issues with men.” _

_ “She did,” Rachel nods. “Her dad really messed her up and then what Puck did… she just… she’s had it rough. She’s had it rough and she fought to get to where she’s at now. ...I love her so much.” _

_“We all love her, baby girl.” Mom pats Rachel on the shoulder. “We all love her. And she knows we’re here. She knows we’re all rooting for her.”_

_ “You think so?” Rachel sniffs back tears. _

_ “I know so.” _

_ I think I made a mistake… I think I made a mistake by leaving… oh god, I made a mistake. Is it too late?! _

_ I turn around and run as fast as I can back up the hallway and do the operating room. Please don’t let it be too late, please don’t let it be too late. I made a mistake by leaving, I should have stayed in my body. Please don’t let it be too late! I messed up! I made a mistake, I don’t want to die! I have Mom and Dad and they love me and Mercedes loves me and Rachel loves me and then there’s Tina and she’s not here but I’m sure she loves me and Santana loves me too I think! And then there’s Frannie! Frannie would be heartbroken if I died! And then most importantly, there’s Beth! Beth wouldn’t know the difference eventually, but for right now, she would! She’d miss me! She’d miss me and Shelby would probably miss me too because she has to deal with someone who loves Beth dying and I made a mistake! And Bailey… oh my god, Bailey… she’ll blame herself if I die... _

_ I made a mistake._

_ I’m out of breath by the time I make it back to the operating room, and I try to push the door open with my hands, but it won’t open! It won’t open! Oh god, I’m too late! I’m too late! _

_ I smack on the door with my hands, but the surgeons and nurses inside of the operating room don’t even hear me._

_ “HEY!” I scream even though I know they won’t answer and my throat feels horrible. “HEY, LET ME IN! LET ME IN!”_

_ I peek through the windows and see the surgeon still shocking me. I hear one of the nurses say that I’ve been down too long and the line on the heart monitor is flat, but the surgeon won’t give up. She keeps shocking me._

_ “LET ME IN! PLEASE! PLEASE! DON’T LET ME DIE!” _

* * *

Mercedes and her mother had finally drifted off to sleep about twenty minutes ago, and I didn’t understand how they could sleep at a time like this. I just knew that if I had even tried to fall asleep, al I would do is imagine my Quinn lying in her own blood, dying and thinking that I don’t love her because I cheated on her.

Mercedes kept her head on my shoulder and it didn’t bother me much. Maybe me and Mercedes had our differences, but we were able to come together for Quinn, which I thought was important.

I scrolled through my phone, trying to figure out if I should say something on Instagram or Facebook. It was something I wanted to keep to myself, mostly. I didn’t feel like answering any questions. I felt like maybe I should let the Glee Club know, because we’re a family and we look after each other when things like this happen. But the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t think that Quinn would want that. So I stayed silent and hoped that my dads wouldn’t call me. I was probably grounded when I got home; grounded because they told me I shouldn’t go to the hospital until I knew it was okay for Quinn to have visitors. Well, I took the car and I’d been there for a few hours and they hadn't even texted me yet.

When I saw the doctor walking into the waiting room from the corner of my eye, I thought I was dreaming. I thought that maybe I had fallen asleep and dreamt that it was time for someone to give us information about my Quinn’s status. I even thought that she was there to update someone else. But I locked my phone, looked around the room, and realized that we were the only people there. It had to be for us.

The doctor approached us with her scrub cap still on her head, and I gently shook Mercedes awake as Mr. Jones shook Mrs. Jones awake. I couldn’t read the doctor’s face. I couldn’t tell if it was good news or bad news. She had the best poker face I had ever seen and it made me want to run to the garbage can and throw up again. I hoped to God that she didn’t tell me Quinn was dead. I didn’t know how I was going to do this without her.

“Are you the family for Lucy?” The doctor asked us with her hands on her hips. She had blood on her shoe covers and a little bit on her scrub pants, which made me feel faint. It was Quinn’s blood, I knew that much. I just hoped it wouldn’t be the last thing of Quinn’s I’d ever see.

“Yes, that’s us,” Mr. Jones stood up and helped his wife out of the chair. Mercedes stood up too, and standing felt right, so I stood too. “She gonna be okay?”

“I’m Dr. Barnes, I’m the doctor who operated on Lucy.” She shook all four of our hands and I wanted to squeeze her hand until she told me what was going on with my Quinn. “Lucy is stable.”

“Oh my god,” I whispered and held my hand against my chest. My legs felt weak all of a sudden and Mercedes had to hold onto me to keep me up. She hugged me so tight that I couldn’t breathe, but it was a good hug; the kind that makes you feel good inside.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Mrs. Jones hugged her husband and then the two of them hugged us. “When can we see her?”

“We just took her into recovery, so it’ll be a while. But she is stable and she should make a full recovery and be just fine. We patched a pretty significant tear in her esophagus, and we drained some blood from her lungs. We’re going to move her up to the red floor, which is the cardiac floor. We just want to monitor her for a while because she did go into cardiac arrest a few times. We have her on some pretty strong medicine to keep that from happening again. So we’re going to monitor her, get a psych consult, and if she checks out well, you should be able to take her home in about three or four days. She’ll have to take it easy for at least two weeks and nothing but soft foods because her throat is going to be very sore. No strenuous activities for her heart, and no singing. When she starts coming out of the anesthesia a little bit, we’ll let you back and you can go see her and give her some love before we transfer her up to the red floor. Sound good?”

“Yes ma’am,” Mr. Jones took a really deep breath and smiled from ear to ear. “Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”

“My pleasure, guys. You have a very strong little girl on your hands.”

“I just have a question,” Mrs. Jones said. “Why would she need a psych consult?”

“Well… the damage we saw when we went in to drain her lungs was pretty extensive. I’ve honestly never seen a gastrointestinal system with as much damage to it as hers had, and I’ve dealt with a lot of eating disorder patients. It was very extensive. She’s had to have been throwing up — violently — for at a year. At least. Maybe even two or three. She’s a strong girl, but she’s extremely sick. Extremely. And I would like to have her monitored because she survived this episode, but the next one will kill her if she keeps going on like this. Lucy’s been sick for years.”

_ Oh my god, _ I thought. _ It’s the bulimia… she’s bulimic, I should have told them that… oh my god, they’re right… Quinn is sick…_

“...It was the bulimia, wasn’t it? That’s what did this to her?” I asked, already knowing the answer. “She’s bulimic.”

“YOU KNEW?!” Mercedes turned toward me and I had never seen somebody filled with so much rage. “RACHEL, YOU KNEW?!”

“I didn’t know it was that bad! I just thought —“

“BUT YOU KNEW?! YOU KNEW AND YOU DIDN’T HELP HER?! YOU DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!”

“Mercedes, I didn’t —“ I shook my head. “I love Quinn, I wouldn’t have —“

And I stopped talking as soon as I felt her hand, slapping me, hard across my cheek. My hand immediately went up to my face and I tasted the blood coming off my lip.

“Yeah, you love her! You’re gonna love Quinn to death!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who forgot (because it was a long time and many chapters ago) .... remember when Rachel found Quinn at home after Santana told the glee club she was in a mental hospital all summer? Remember how she cleaned up Quinn’s mess? That’s how rachel knew.


	65. Please Don’t Leave Me

You know those few hazy seconds in the moments between when your eyes open and your brain catches up? Like in the morning when you wake up from the previous night's sleep, and you wake up feeling so well rested, so refreshed, so comfortable that you've convinced yourself you're probably still dreaming? 

In those split seconds before you come crashing back down to reality, the world seems still. It seems like the rest of it stopped, just once in time and waited for you to blink your eyes and catch up to it.

I wake up before my eyes open… And the way I'm feeling is _ nothing _ like those split seconds. The way I'm feeling is like when you have that dream that you're falling, and you can feel the air rushing around you as you plummet to your death. And usually, you wake up before you hit the ground. And you wake up with your heart pounding so hard that you can hear it in your ears, you wake up with sweat stains on your t-shirt and your hair sticking to your forehead. And you sit up and look around and try to make sense of what the hell you see.

In my case, it feels like I never woke up. It feels like I actually hit the ground.

_ How long was I asleep? Did I miss dinner? _

“You can start her on a morphine drip just to keep her comfortable, but keep supplementing with heparin to keep her heart in check.” I hear a man’s gravelly voice talking and even though it’s a little bit fuzzy sounding to me, I can hear enough to know that I don’t recognize it.

_ Who is in my room? Why is he talking about medicine? Did Mercedes leave the TV on during one of her stupid General Hospital reruns? _

“If anything changes with her heart, page me immediately. I mean it, Charlotte. If there’s even so much as HINT of irregularity in her heartbeat, page me right away. Do not stop, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Page me. I’m not about to let this little girl die.”

_ What little girl? Who’s dying? _

“Alright Dennis, I got it. Page you.” Someone else speaks, and she has a really smooth voice with a heavy southern accent. It kind of reminds me of the way Mom talks.

_ Holy crap, Mom…. MOM! I have to apologize to her, I have to tell her that I’m sorry RIGHT AWAY before she kicks me out! I was awful to her, I was terrible! She’s downstairs making dinner, I smell it. She’s still in the kitchen, I have to go, I have to apologize right now! RIGHT NOW! _

Despite the fact that my eyelids feel like someone dropped ten pound weights on them and it hurts to open them up, I force myself to do it anyway. And the light that beats down into them is so bright and so fluorescent that I close them just as fast as I opened them because they burn.

_ Why are there lights on? I never sleep with the lights on. _

I squeeze my eyes tight to try and ward off the burning sensation in them, then open them up again. Everything’s a little fuzzy, so I have to blink a few times to bring everything into focus. As I’m blinking, I start to roll over onto my side so I can get out of — _ OW! OW, OW, OW, OW! MY ARM! MY ARM IS BURNING, OW! OW! OW! _

This time when I blink, piping hot tears spill out the corners of my eyes and dribble down to my earlobes. I don't know why I'm crying, but I am. I go to suck in a breath so I can cry out in pain, but I’m in even more pain… My mouth hurts. My mouth hurts so bad and my throat hurts. My throat is burning, it feels like I swallowed fire! It feels like I swallowed fire and it’s so unbearable and it hurts so bad that my stomach hurts too. My throat hurts… my throat really really hurts… and I can’t get up. I can’t get up…

“M-M—“ I try to open my mouth to call Mom but my tongue hits something cold and shiny and hard. Like plastic. And then the awful metallic taste of blood is all over my tongue and it’s nasty. It’s so nasty. It’s nasty and my throat is burning and my arm hurts and there’s something in my mouth and I don’t see my mom…

I see a… a… a blonde girl? In blue scrubs? Her hair is short like mine, but she’s older. And she has a stethoscope around her neck. She’s talking to someone tall. He’s tall and he has gray hair and his scrubs are blue too and he’s looking at something in his hands. And there’s a light above me that is too bright. And something to my left that’s beeping. And something on my right making a really loud noise, like a motor or something. _ Where’s my mom? I want my mom. I want my mom. They’re trying to do something to me. They’re trying to hurt me, I want my mom. I want my mom, she can save me. She can help me. I want her to hold me. I want her to hold me and give me medicine to stop my throat from hurting. Why am I alone? Where’s my mom? Everything hurts and I don’t know where I am and I’m so scared and I just really want my mom. Mommy… _

“She’s waking up,” the blonde girl says to the tall guy and suddenly they both come rushing over to me. And that makes me cry even harder because I want my mom, not them.

_ Why is this happening to me? I went to sleep in my room. I had a fight with my mom and I went to sleep in my room and now I’m here. And I don’t even know where “here” is. Did they give me away? Did she kick me out? Is that why she’s not here? I just want her. I want her… I’m sorry for cussing, I just want my mom… _

“Her stats are checking out great. She’s coming outta that anesthesia pretty well.” The blonde girl shines a light in my eye and I try to turn my head away so she can’t do it, but I’m stuck. _ I can’t even turn my head… can I just have my mom…? _“I think we can remove the tube. I don’t want it in her throat any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Get the morphine drip started before we do anything. She’s gonna be in a lot of pain… a lot more pain than she even needs to be in, thanks to the idiots at St. Rita’s.” The guy sounds kind of angry and I don’t think I like him… 

“Tell me about it. They shoved a tube down her throat, which was completely obliterated. Made the surgery ten times harder than it even had to be.” The nurse is mad like the guy and maybe I don’t like either one of them…

“M-M…” I try again to call out for Mom even with the tube in my mouth. _ How is Mom gonna know I want her if I can’t even call her? _

The girl starts messing with the wires and tubes that are connected to my arm. I feel her jerking around and pulling, like she’s trying to screw something into me or something and it hurts. _ Why is she hurting me? _

“Hey Lucy!” She talks loud like she knows I can’t hear her very well or something. “I’m gonna need you not to talk, okay sweetness?”

_ Why can’t I talk? I wanna talk. She called me Lucy. Mom and Dad must not even be here. If they were here, they would have told her not to call me Lucy. They’re not here... _

“I just gave you some medicine that will make you feel comfortable in a few minutes, okay?! We’re gonna give that some time to settle in and when it does, I’m gonna get that tube outta your mouth!” She takes her gloves off and tosses them into the trashcan before she puts her hands underneath the weird gown I’m wearing and touches my boobs. My BARE boobs.

_ Where’s my bra? And where are my clothes? Why are you feeling me up?_

“I’m just putting a couple probes on you, okay?! I wanna use them to take a look at your heart!” She pushes the button on a monitor and stares at it for a minute. “I’m Dr. Barnes, okay?!”

_ Okay, Dr. Barnes… Dr. Barnes. She’s a doctor. I’m in a hospital for some reason. I’m in a hospital and I’m all alone… _

Even though everything on my body hurts right now, my face cracks and I feel more hot tears running down my cheeks and dripping to my ears. _ I’m alone… I’m here all alone with nobody but a doctor with me. I don’t even know her…_

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetness. You don’t have to cry.” She uses a really soft paper towel to blot my eyes. “It’s okay. We’re gonna take real good care of you. I know you’re scared, but it’s okay.” She’s very gentle with the way she starts peeling tape off my cheeks. “I’m gonna get this thing outta your mouth now, okay? It might hurt just a little, but I promise it won’t be too bad. That medicine should be kicking in and working on you now.”

She peels the tape off both my cheeks and uses her two fingers to raise my chin up a little. She starts tugging on the tube that’s down my throat and I know she said that it shouldn’t hurt but it does! It hurts so bad! It hurts and I taste blood and it feels like she’s ripping my throat out! Why is she ripping my throat out?! I know she says it’s just a tube but it has to be my throat. It has to be. It hurts so bad and I can’t see much of it that she takes out of me but it’s really bloody and it has to be my throat. She’s ripping my throat out.

“There we are,” she tries to smile at me when my throat is completely ripped out. I can close my mouth now and when I do, I realize that my jaw is very sore. “Is that better?”

“...I want my mom…” Saying that is the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. My throat burns so bad when I talk and my voice doesn’t even sound like my voice anymore. It sounds more like a series of shrieks. _ I’m so much pain, someone please just get my mom. _

“Your mom will be right back, okay?” She uses the paper towel to dab my eyes dry once again. “You were taking so long to wake up, she went down to the bathroom and to get something to drink since you were enjoying your nap so much.” _ She’s here?! Mom’s here?! They didn’t kick me out?! They didn’t give me away and abandon me?! She’s here?! _

“Everything is going to be a-okay.” She starts shoving these two soft tubes up my nose and hooking the wire behind my ears. My eyes are really heavy all of a sudden. I feel weird. I feel like everything inside of me is turning to liquid and sloshing around and all of my senses are fuzzy. I don’t feel good… “I’m gonna get your nurse down here in a few minutes and she’s gonna help me run some tests on you.”

I hear everything she’s saying, but it’s like I’m drifting in and out of consciousness. The more I blink, the harder it gets to keep my eyes open. My throat doesn’t hurt as bad anymore and neither does the arm that she shoved the medicine inside of. Nothing hurts, but I also can’t really feel anything and I’m not even sure if my legs are still attached to my body. I can’t even feel myself breathing. I feel like a shell. Like I’m just a carcass lying in this bed and the only thing that’s alive is my mind. _ I just really want my mom… _

“Quinn?” Somebody calls my name as soon as I close my eyes for good, and I have to open them back up again. My hearing is all fuzzy so I don’t know who it is…

* * *

I only called her name because it doesn’t look like her in the bed. She has tubes up her nose and a bunch of IVs in her left arm. Her lips are really red — probably stained from the blood — and there are still little traces of red at the corners of her mouth that they have yet to wipe off. Her eyes are sunken. Her cheeks are hollow. I know it’s my Quinn in that bed because I would recognize her aesthetically pleasing cheekbones just about anywhere. Yet, it really does not look like my Quinn.

“Oh, sweetie, you can’t be in here yet.” The doctor leaves Quinn’s side and comes over to where I’m standing at the door instead. “The family has to come in here first. Family before friends.”

She’s not explaining it to me in a bitchy way or anything. She’s actually being very nice about not letting me cross the threshold. I’m not paying attention to her, though. My eyes are solely on my Quinn because I thought I saw her blink and I thought I heard the doctor talking to her, so that must mean she is awake. Yes?

The doctor keeps explaining why I can’t see her before her parents see her. I’m tuning her out for the most part. I’m tuning her out because I just saw my Quinn blink again. She’s awake.

“My GOD!” I blow right past the doctor without even caring and full sprint the entire five steps it takes to get me to Quinn’s bed. I’m not sure if it’s okay to touch her, especially when she looks so fragile and breakable, but my hands go right to her cheeks. “Baby, I—“ I never call Quinn “baby”, but it just kind of came out of my mouth. Just the way the tears just come out of my eyes like little rivers.

“R-R… chel?” She tries to say my name but it sounds like a tiny little mouse squeak. It hits me all at once. I might not ever hear Quinn say my name again.

“Shh, shh,” I press my finger to her lips and wipe her tears with my thumbs. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

It feels like we’re in a movie or even a stage play. This is act three and the moment before everything falls into place and is resolved. I run into the room and embrace Quinn and cry over her body, just thankful that she is going to make a miraculous recovery. She holds me and tells me that she forgives me for everything and that this whole experience made her realize that life is short. I apologize and beg her to love me again. She kisses my forehead and tells me that she never stopped loving me. The credits start to roll as the camera zooms out on me lying on Quinn and Quinn holding me in her arms. The narrator starts talking and says that we lived happily ever after.

I thought about this moment the entire time we waited for her to wake up. Mercedes slapped me and we went our separate ways for a bit. I went down into the cafeteria to get some water and calm down. I expected Quinn to be awake when I came back half an hour later, and she wasn’t. An hour went by and I hung out in the waiting room by myself while Mercedes and her parents got to sit inside Quinn’s room. Her dad came out to update me every so often and after an hour and a half, they went to get food and use the bathroom. I couldn’t help myself. I had to come in here and see if she was awake.

I imagined how it would feel to see her face again. Every time I put my head against the wall and closed my eyes to try and sleep, I had a horrible image burned into me. All I saw was her on the bathroom floor, bleeding and probably wishing that somebody was there with her. I started to think about how it would feel when I saw her again instead. I imagined that I would cry, just like I’m doing now. I imagined that I would tell her I love her. I imagined that she would be able to hold me and speak. I imagined the doctor coming out and telling me that she wasn’t going to wake up at all. I imagined having to go back and see my Quinn comatose. I imagined that scenario so hard that I even wrote a song in my head about it.

“I rushed here.” I take my hands off her cheeks because I don’t know how she’s feeling and I don’t want to crowd her. I use my t-shirt to wipe my tears and stand back so she can get a good look at me. She probably needs to laugh. I know my Quinn well enough to know that she will laugh at my outfit. “That’s why I’m wearing the latest from Rachel Berry’s pajama collection.”

Her eyes are like pools of honey when they look at me. From my lime green Wicked t-shirt, to my black flannel pajama pants with yellow stars on them, all the way to my pink bunny slippers. I look ridiculous, but for Quinn? I don’t mind that much. She grins very soft, and I can tell that it hurts.

I sit down at the edge of her bed and nuzzle my hand underneath of hers. Our eyes meet and one single tear rolls down her right cheek. When I see her cry, all of my tears are unleashed and I feel like I can finally deal with it.

It’s the moment in the movie where the main character (me) finally realizes just how serious the situation was. She was strong for so long, just trying to hold everyone up. She was busy being the glue that held the family together. Now that there’s no real danger anymore and the love of her life is going to be fine, she can cry and let herself feel all her emotions. It’s the most powerful moment in the entire movie, trust me.

“You scared me to death…” I tell her through my blubbery, messy tears. “I thought I was gonna lose you. I thought I was gonna have to do this without you. And I can’t. I can’t do this without you. So don’t make me do this without you. Don’t… don’t turn into one of those sad stories everyone tells in the hallways of McKinley. Don’t leave me here.” She closes her eyes and nods at me very slowly. “I love you. I love you so much.”

She parts her lips and I can hear the breath moving through her mouth and the shape of her lips forming to say “I love you too”, but no words come out. So I put my finger to her lips again.

“Don’t say it,” I whisper. “I already know. You don’t have to say it.”

Actually, no. Scratch what I said earlier about me finally crying being the most powerful scene of the movie. This kind of thing happens all the time during rewrites and shooting the scenes, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Sometimes the actresses have so much chemistry (me and Quinn) that things happen and you can’t help but put them into the script. So what’s really the most powerful scene of our movie is what I do next.

Even with the blood on her lips and blood at the corners of her mouth, I hold her face steady and I kiss her. It’s one of those very simple kinds of kisses, you know the one where you don’t open your mouth but your lips are still smashed against each other and it’s still meaningful? I can taste her blood on my lips, but that doesn’t stop me from kissing her again.

The doctor is still in the room, she’s been hanging out in the corner with a nurse that got here a few minutes ago ever since I ignored her and came in anyway. They’re talking amongst themselves and not exactly paying attention to us, but the can clearly see us kissing. Quinn’s usually not okay with us kissing publicly and openly like this, but I’m hoping that she starts to feel like me. I feel like all of that doesn’t matter. I could have lost her tonight and my life could have shattered. I used to hate kissing her publicly too because I was worried about what people would say or think. That’s all secondary now. That’s all so stupid. I would kiss her in front of a thousand Bible-thumping homophobes if it meant that she will never scare me like this again.

I still have my lips pressed up against hers when the door to her room slides open. I pull away from kissing her, but because I’m embarrassed. I pull away from kissing her because I know that it’s Mercedes and her family coming in now, I know they’ll want their time with my Quinn, and also I’m pretty sure Mercedes still hates me.

Her parents have still been nice to me, so I guess that’s a plus. But I’m almost 100% certain that Mercedes would throw me to a pack of wolves if she had the chance. I really don’t want to cause anymore problems tonight. I want everyone to just be happy and rejoice over the fact that Quinn is okay and she is still with us. I want this to be all about Quinn. So I step away from her even though I don’t want to.

* * *

“Oh God,” Mom says in a really loud whisper as she covers her mouth and rushes over to me. She’s the first one out of everyone in the room and I can’t see when anyone else enters because she’s too busy squeezing me and kissing my cheeks. _ I’ve never seen her cry so hard… _

“Hi, baby,” she starts stroking my hair away from my face and keeps rubbing my cheeks like she’s trying to figure out if I’m real or something. I just want everyone to tell me what’s going on. Rachel’s yelling at me because I scared her. Mom’s acting like seeing me alive is like seeing the second coming of Jesus Christ. Everyone is SUPER emotional. And I have no clue why I’m even here.

“Mmmommy…” I know the doctor said I should try not to talk, but how am I supposed to communicate if I don’t talk? How am I supposed to find out what’s wrong with me if I can’t ask?

“Oh no,” Mom shakes her head and kisses my forehead. “No, no, no, no, no. Don’t talk. Don’t talk, baby. Don’t talk. It’s okay. It’s okay. We here. We all here.” She steps aside so I can finally see Dad and Mercedes too. “Me, Daddy, ‘Cedes, Rachel… we all here.”

_ They're all here… they’re all here and they all look like they’ve had a really bad night. _

Rachel’s in her pajamas and her hair isn’t brushed. Her ponytail is falling out and barely hanging on by a thread, and her eyes were all red and blotchy. She has a really big purple bruise on her cheek that I can’t even ask how she got. Mercedes is wearing sweatpants and a hoodie herself, and her hair is all frizzy and tied up in a messy bun. Her eyes are just as red as Rachel’s. Even Mom and Dad look a mess. _ Did I get into an accident of some sort? Did I fall? Did I hit my head? Did I have some sort of dizzy spell? Did I pass out? They’re monitoring my heart… maybe I had a heart attack? _

“You have no idea how much we love you, lil girl,” Mom kisses me on the cheek for the millionth time. “Scared the hell out all uh us.”

Mercedes goes over to the side of my bed that isn’t occupied by Mom, and she grabs ahold of my hand. I can’t really feel her touching me because that pain medicine the doctor gave me I assume, but it’s nice to know that she’s holding my hand. It’s nice to know that she’s here. Even Dad’s touching me. He’s got his hand on my ankle and he’s rubbing it the way a good Dad would do to comfort his daughter.

“I thought I lost you for a second,” Mercedes mumbles under her breath. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again…” Her face cracks and she starts crying really hard and I’ve never EVER seen Mercedes cry like this… _ Oh my god, what happened… what did I do? _

“How she doing?” Mom finally lets me go, but I can tell she didn’t really want to. _ Don’t let me go. I wanted you bad. Hold me again. I needed you. I still need you. _She goes over to Dr. Barnes instead and leaves me all alone again. I mean, I know I’m not really alone because everyone else is here, but I want my mom. I want her by my side. Her and Rachel. That’s who I want.

“She came out of the anesthesia very nicely,” Dr. Barnes closes my chart and nods her head at Mom. “She’s going to be in a lot of pain for a long time. We have her on morphine right now to keep her comfortable and she’s still on an IV antibiotic.”

“You said we can take her home in a few days though, right? She gonna be good to go?”

“The goal is to get her out of here by the end of the week, yes. But I can’t really make that promise just yet. There are still many factors that play into how long we need to keep her. My colleague — Dr. Howland, the cardiologist — is still monitoring her heart very closely. I’m monitoring the infection in her chest, and I’d like to get her cleared by the psychiatrist before we send her on her way.”

“Mmmkay, well how far she gotta go physically? How long she gonna be in pain? How long ‘til her throat feel better?”

“I would say that I don’t plan on releasing Quinn until she can swallow soft foods. Which will be a process. It could be anywhere from two days to two weeks, it’s hard to be sure. It all depends on her comfort level. I’d like to keep her until she can eat.”

“She can’t eat right now?!” Mercedes leaves my side too and walks over to the doctor and her mom to join in the conversation. “How is she getting nutrients, doesn’t she need to eat?! Didn’t we literally talk to that nutritionist guy like an hour ago to figure out WHAT to get to her eat? And now you’re saying she’s not eating?!”

“She’s being fed through a tube that goes straight into her stomach right now, but it’s easily removed. I can remove it as soon as she’s able to tolerate a soft food.”

“So she can’t leave until she can eat?” Rachel sighs. “What about the infection? You said she has some sort of infection?”

“It’s a slight one, but it is an infection nonetheless.” Dr. Barnes is so calm through everyone’s questions and I’m trying to listen and see if I can get a sense of what happened to me, but I’m still very lost. “You see, the problem when someone ruptures their esophagus is that there’s a hole in a place where there shouldn’t be a hole. Unfortunately for Quinn, the first hospital widened that hole when they intubated her, and that allowed some fluid to leak through that hole. And that fluid got into places it shouldn’t be in and caused an infection. A little bit of that liquid built up and got trapped in her mediastinum, the area behind her breastbone. We drained that during surgery — along with the blood she aspirated — but the fluid caused a slight infection. We caught it early so it likely won’t become a problem, but I’m treating it with two different antibiotics and I’m watching it very closely. It’s not a cause for concern.”

“And what about her heart?” Rachel asks next. “Is her heart okay? What’s the other doctor saying about —“

“Oh, so now you care,” Mercedes rolls her eyes at Rachel and just when I thought I had most of it all put together, she rolls her eyes at Rachel and I’m confused all over again. Maybe she’s just mad at Rachel for kissing Finn. She’s loyal that way. If I’m mad at somebody, Mercedes is always mad with me.

“Mercedes, how many times and how many ways do I have to tell you that I’m SORRY?” Rachel sounds more annoyed than anything and I really wish these two wouldn’t fight… not right now. Not when I’m still trying to figure out why we’re here in the first place. “What do you want to do?! You wanna hit me again?! Go ahead. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m here for QUINN. I love Quinn and I’m —“

“Stop saying you love her, for God’s sake! You know Rachel, you might fool everyone else, but you don’t fool me. You don’t love Quinn. You never have. You don’t give a damn about her. All you care about is yourself.”

“I know you’re hurting right now and you’re worried about Quinn, so I’m going to pretend like you didn’t say that.” Rachel sounds really hurt… _ why are they fighting? _“Look, I’m sorry. Whatever I did that made you so angry, I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“You can leave, that’d be a start.”

“I’m not going anywhere. She needs me here. She needs me and —“

“NO, RACHEL. YOU KNOW WHEN SHE NEEDED YOU?! SHE NEEDED YOU WHEN SHE WAS FORCING HERSELF TO THROW UP EVERYTHING SHE ATE. SHE NEEDED YOU WHEN YOU WERE BUSY MAKING OUT WITH FINN. SHE NEEDED YOU TO BE THERE FOR HER, TO DO THE RESPONSIBLE THING AND _ TELL _SOMEONE THAT SHE IS A GODDAMN BULIMIC!”

_ Oh no… oh no, oh no, oh no… they know… _

“I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!” Rachel finally defends herself. “Don’t you think if I knew what to do, I would’ve done it?! But I didn’t know! Okay, yes. I knew she struggled with it, I knew it was a problem, I knew she was doing it, but I didn’t KNOW that it was like this. Should I have told someone? YES. I made a mistake! But I thought she was okay. I thought it was a one time thing, like a slip up or something because it’s something you have to work at. She has a therapist, she sees a psychiatrist, she’s on medicine… I thought she was okay. I thought she was working through it. If I had ANY idea that she was still doing it and it was this bad, I would’ve told… god, I would’ve told… I would’ve told… I love her… I would’ve told…”

“But you knew,” Mercedes talks to her through clenched teeth. “You knew. And you said nothing. We sat out there for hours, waiting. Hoping. Trying to figure out what was wrong with her. And you knew the whole time and said NOTHING. You are the most selfish, arrogant, simple-minded, intolerable —

“Mercedes, now stop it,” Mom puts her hand on Mercedes shoulder and sounds like she means business. “You ain’t gonna blame Rachel for none of this. This is nobody’s fault.”

“It’s hers! She should’ve told us! She should have —“

“I thought she was getting help! I didn’t think it was a problem anymore!” Rachel yells back.

_ Please don’t fight… Stop fighting… it’s not Rachel’s fault... _

“BULLSHIT. YOU SHOULD HAVE —“

“Okay, if you need someone to blame for not catching it sooner, then fine. Blame me. But you’re not about to sit here and pretend like this is about me not telling you when in reality, it’s all about you being jealous that this is the ONE thing Quinn trusted me with and not you.”

_ Please stop fighting… it’s making me feel… I feel... _

“YOU’RE DELUSIONAL!”

“AM I?!”

Mercedes lunges at Rachel like they’re about to actually fist fight each other but my eyes are fluttering shut before I even see anyone throw a punch. And at first I think that I’m just drifting off to sleep because that morphine made me feel loopy and sleepy….

But then I hear a bunch of monitors and sirens beeping before everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who missed it (because I added the note after the chapter was published) The Jones house is a real location in Lima. Google it if you want to see it.


	66. Human Beings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is the deep look inside Rachel’s head that we all needed, and I hope we all get to understand a little bit of why she kissed Finn.

* * *

* * *

Mercedes’ fist barely misses the middle of my face when the monitors start beeping and going crazy. I didn’t dodge her punch, I just flinched and she missed. I kind of deserve to be punched after this entire week, so I was just going to take my lumps and let her hit me, but then Quinn’s monitors started making a bunch of horrible noises and the doctors came rushing in and now they’re crowding her and all we can do is watch while she lies there on the bed with her arms stiff at her sides and her head falling all over the place.

**“CODE BLUE IN ROOM 521. REPEAT, CODE BLUE IN 521.”**

I hardly hear them announce it over the loudspeaker the first time, but I hear it the second time and I can’t believe what they’re saying. Code blue? Code blue, you only ever hear that in movies and stuff, that isn’t something that actually happens in real life. What do they mean when they say code blue? That’s not something that they just make up and use to make the movies and tv shows more dramatic? There’s such a thing as an actual code blue?

“What’s going on?” The male doctor from earlier comes running into the room like he’s the commander of this entire ship and he almost knocks me over because he’s moving so fast.

“Her pulse is thready and I can’t find a rhythm,” the lady doctor who’s been here since the beginning seems like she’s panicking and if she’s panicking then I really think Quinn is going to die. Her body’s been through so much tonight… I don’t know if she can take anymore.

“Her BP is through the roof and her heart’s giving out,” the man seems really collected but he’s moving really fast so he’s probably not as collected as he seems. “She’s arresting again. Charge the paddles to 200.” 

One of the nurses puts some blue gel on the things that they call “paddles” and the guy doctor rubs them together while the lady doctor practically rips Quinn’s gown away. I don’t want to see the next part, but I can’t look away. My eyes are stuck and for a moment, I can’t feel myself breathing. I can’t breathe while I watch them put the paddles on her chest. It hurts to see them make her body jolt when they shock her like that.

“Come on, kid…” The lady doctor watches the heart monitor screen and holds Quinn’s face in her hands. “Come on. You didn’t come this far to give up on us now.”

“Charge to 300,” the guy barks orders at the nurse and puts the paddles on Quinn’s chest again. Her poor body jolts again when they shock her and I want them to stop shocking her. It probably hurts.

“I still can’t get a rhythm,” the lady speaks in a very low voice and I know that can’t be good. “She’s still all over the place.”

“Charge to 350,” the guy says again.

I still can’t feel myself breathe. I know I must be breathing because if I wasn’t, I would have passed out by now, but I don’t feel myself actually doing it. I feel the world standing still. I feel nothing happening beyond the walls of this room. I feel that nothing is ever going to happen again until Quinn is safe.

The lady shakes her head, “Still nothing, I can’t get her back.”

“QUINN!” Mercedes puts her hands on her knees and screams as loud as she can. Her screaming is what makes me realize that this is all actually happening and this is very real. Quinn is dying in front of us and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. She is dying and I can’t stop watching.

It’s the moment where I really need somebody. I need to be able to reach over and hold Mercedes’ hand for support, but I’m pretty sure she’ll try to kill me if I do that. Her mom can’t watch what’s going on. She has her face buried in her dad’s shoulder and her dad is busy trying to be the strong one. Mercedes looks like she’s melting into the floor. And then there’s me. Not a tear in sight but can’t pull my eyes away.

“Quinn…” I whisper her name, mostly to myself because I’m trying to make sense of everything. She can’t die. I know there’s nothing I can do about it if God or whatever higher power she believes in decides that it’s her time, but she cannot die. She can’t. She can’t leave me here. I will never make it without her.

“I need everybody in here to clear out!” The guy doctor rummages through a cart with a bunch of medicine on it and yells at us. “Everybody in here needs to go! Now!”

I can’t leave her though. I know she’s not conscious right now and she can’t see anything. Maybe she can’t hear anything either, I don’t know how this whole thing works, but if she dies and I’m not here? I will never be able to forgive myself. I can’t let her die alone. I can’t let her die without me. She needs to know that I’m here for her and she is surrounded by people who love her. She needs to die knowing that she was my first real love and I will never love anyone quite the same way that I loved her. I never told her any of that. I don’t think she knows. I can’t let her die alone.

“Mercedes, come on,” Mr. Jones helps Mercedes up off the floor and Mercedes swats at him to leave her alone. “I said come on, ‘Cedes! There’s nothing we can do here except get in the way. We gotta let them work, come on!”

“I don’t wanna leave her!” Mercedes swats his hands away once more. “Daddy, I can’t leave her. I have to stay.”

“You don’t need to be seeing this! Now let’s go! Now! Let them do their work!” Despite her repeated slaps at his hands, Mr. Jones grabs her by her arm and yanks her up off the floor anyway.

I back myself into a corner (literally) and watch as the guy doctor shocks Quinn again while the lady doctor sticks a syringe full of a clear liquid into her IV. I wonder what they’re giving her. She’s allergic to some kind of medicine and I forget what it is but I know she’s allergic to it and if I could just remember what it is I could tell them so they don’t give it to her. God, Rachel. Think. Think, think, think. What medicine is it that she’s allergic to?

“Rachel, that means you too,” Mr. Jones puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and I don’t slap at him like Mercedes was doing, but I want to. “You don’t need to see this either, honey. We have to let them do their work.”

“I’m not leaving her,” I mutter at him while I shake my head. “She can’t die alone. I have to stay.”

“She’s not dying, but right now they have to work on her and they can’t do that with us standing here watching. If you want to do what’s right for Quinn, then come on out into the hallway with us. Come on.” He’s very sturdy yet gentle and Quinn once told me that Mercedes’ mom is her favorite person in the world (aside from Beth and probably me), but her dad is the glue that keeps everything together. I see that firsthand now.

“She’s allergic to penicillin.” It finally comes to me as Mr. Jones has his hands on my shoulders. I look right up into his eyes and feel my own start to burn with tears that need to be shed. “Tell them not to give her any penicillin, she’s allergic to penicillin.”

“I’ll let them know, now come on,” he pulls me towards the door gently.

“And keep her feet covered! She can’t sleep if her feet aren’t covered! She hates her feet being cold!” I don’t know where that came from… it just slipped out. “And her throat hurts! Tell them her throat hurts! Tell them to give her something because her throat hurts!”

“I know, honey. Come on.” He’s gentle with the way he forces me through the door, but it’s still forceful.

He doesn’t understand. They need me in that room. I know her. I know her better than anyone here, I swear it. They need to know that her feet need covered or else she’s not comfortable and she likes for her hair to be parted on the left side of her head and she hates it when her hair is in her face for long periods of time and she’s allergic to penicillin so she can’t have anything related to penicillin and if you kiss her left cheek you have to kiss her right one too because that’s just how she is and she likes to look at pictures of Beth when she’s upset and she likes to sit in the shower so she can think about things and she likes it if you rub her head but not her back and you can’t touch her legs or her chest without warning her first or you’ll make her cry and… and God, she can’t die. Please don’t let her die.

Out in the hallway, Mrs. Jones tries to calm Mercedes down by putting her hands on her cheeks, but it’s not working. The tears that roll down Mercedes’ cheeks are the kind of tears that you see people win Oscars for. She’s hyperventilating a little bit too and even though I’m one of the calmer ones in the hallway, I understand how she feels because I couldn’t breathe in that room either. I wish she didn’t absolutely hate me right now because if she didn’t, I would give her a hug and tell her that it’s okay. She seems like she needs someone to tell her it’s okay.

“You need to take a deep breath, baby.” Mrs. Jones keeps her hands on her daughter’s cheeks and breathes in with her. “It’s gonna be okay, just breathe.”

“She can’t die, Mom… she can’t die.” Mercedes sobs and I think it’s the right time to make a peace offering.

“She won’t,” I try my best to be reassuring. I even put my hand on her shoulder, but if I can’t even convince myself that Quinn is going to be okay, how am I supposed to convince anyone else? “She’s tough, she’ll pull through this.”

“Why are you still even here?!” She snatches away from me and I don’t think she’s going to hit me again, but I flinch anyway because she very well might. “I told you to leave!”

“And I told you that I’m not going anywhere.” I get that she’s angry and I get that she hates me. Believe it or not, it’s not a new feeling for me. I’m quite used to people hating me. She hates me, but she doesn’t control me. She doesn’t get any say in what I do and where I go. I’m here for Quinn and Quinn only. “Come on, Mercedes. You can hate me later but for now, we need each other. We both love Quinn and —“

“STOP SAYING THAT YOU LOVE HER.” She yells at me so loud that the other people in the hallway stare. It’s like the big dramatic moment in the movie where the victim confronts the bully except maybe I’m the bully in this situation. I never thought I would be. “You think that if you say it enough you can convince yourself and everyone else around you but you’re not convincing me. You don’t love Quinn. You don’t. Stop saying that you do.”

“You don’t know how I feel.” That’s my only defense but it’s true. She doesn’t know how I feel about Quinn. She can’t possibly know what goes on inside of my head.

“You make it abundantly clear! You tell her that she’s exhausting, you accuse her of being abusive or whatever, you constantly put her in the situation to choose between us, you ignore her all the time, you didn’t help her when you knew she was killing herself with this, and you KISSED FINN. Why do you seem to forget that?! You don’t love her! I love her! Me and my family, WE love her. We love her, Rachel. And if Quinn dies, I swear to God I’m going to hurt you. One way or another, I am going to hurt you. Because you did anything but make her life worth living while she was on this earth. I swear I’m going to hurt you. She better not die because if she does, I’m going to hurt you.”

“Look, if you want to be mad at me, that’s fine.” I put my hands up as a sign of me waving the white flag. “If you want to hate me, that’s also fine. If you want to kick my ass or whatever, that’s fine too. But I’m here because I love her just as much as the rest of you and believe it or not, she loves me too. I messed up and I hurt her and yeah, if this is her final day on earth then yes, I’m the one who made her last week alive hell. I’m the one who did that, and it’s something that I’ll have to find a way to live with. But it’s none of your business. It’s between me and it’s between Quinn, not you. It’s —“

“I’m making it my business,” she glares at me and if looks could kill, I would be six feet under with a pretty headstone telling my life story. “Every time you hurt her, every time you make her cry, she —“

“And that’s not your business! If this is about you hating me because I didn’t tell anyone that Quinn was throwing up, then fine! Hate me, kill me, crucify me, whatever! I deserve that! But you know nothing about me and Quinn’s relationship. You don’t know a single thing about what we go through and you’re not about to stand here and assume how I feel about her.” 

See, and this is the part where I start to really hate Mercedes as much as she hates me because she’s making my emotions switch to anger and I’m not supposed to be angry. I’m supposed to be sad and worried about Quinn because she could die but I’m more angry with Mercedes than I am concerned about Quinn and I hate her for doing that to me.

“You don’t know a thing, Mercedes. Stop assuming that you do.” My eyes are burning with tears and I swallow my pride and let them fall. We’ve all cried tonight, I don’t think anyone will judge me. I just hope they know they’re not tears because Mercedes hurt my feelings. They’re tears because I’m so infuriated.

“I know you don’t deserve her. And that’s all I need to know.” She looks me from head to toe like she’s sizing me up. I’m not stupid by any means. I know Mercedes could snap me in half like a toothpick if she wanted to and me, being the gentle and loving pacifist that I am, have never been in a fist fight before. I think I would let her beat me up. “You’re not good enough for her.”

If this was playing out on the silver screen, the camera would zoom in on my face and it’d be the moment where the audience sees the realization crumble on my face. My eyebrows would raise and my eyes would widen just a little, because Mercedes’ words made everything click. And her anger towards me makes just a little more sense.

This isn’t about me not telling anyone that I knew Quinn was throwing up. This isn’t about her feeling like I should have spoken up and let the doctors know what I knew. This is about her wanting to be closer to Quinn than I am. This is about her dealing with the fact that she is no longer the person Quinn tells everything to. This is about Quinn not being readily available and at her beck and call anymore. This is Mercedes finally dealing with the fact that she liked Quinn as more than a friend once upon a time. This… is jealousy.

“You can’t have her, Mercedes.” I don’t say that to be rude or snotty, I say that to be fair. I say that because she needs to know that I’m not the same as I was before I stepped into this hospital.

Before I stepped into this hospital, I probably would have just left when she told me to, and I probably would have just kept my phone close by while I waited for them to text me that Quinn is dead. Tonight has changed me as a person. Tonight has made me realize just how much the skinny blonde beauty in the Cheerios uniform with eyes like honey and skin like buttermilk who used to torture me, actually means to me. I probably wouldn’t have stood my ground and fought for Quinn because I wasn’t sure if she was something I wanted to fight for. But I’ll fight for her now. She means the world to me. I’ve got my armor up and ready.

Mercedes squints her eyes at me like she’s trying to translate what I just said, so I decide to repeat myself. And maybe explain what I mean a little more. “When she comes out of this and she gets better and she’s able to talk to me about what happened between us?” I continue. “If she decides that she can forgive me, then that’s it. We’re going to be together and there’s nothing you can do besides accept it. You can’t have her. If she still wants me, you can’t have her.”

“YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT —“ She runs her fingers through her hair and squeezes handfuls of her hair so hard that her hands shake. “YOU ARE SO UTTERLY AND COMPLETELY A LITERAL FREAKING MORON, RACHEL.”

“Here we go with the insults again,” I mumble.

“CAN YOU FOR ONE SECOND THINK ABOUT SOMETHING OR SOMEONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF?!”

“And can you get out of your own head for two seconds?! And stop acting like you know what’s best for Quinn?! You don’t know —“

“WE ARE WHAT’S BEST FOR QUINN. NOT YOU. NOT —“

“Yet she still chooses me over you every single time, doesn’t she?”

I was out of line for saying that when it’s not entirely true. She was just getting on my nerves so badly and I had to say something to hit her back harder and that’s what came to mind. It really must have hit her hard just like I wanted it to, because she starts barreling toward me and even though I won’t fight her back, I don’t move away or try to run from her. Because it doesn’t matter if she hits me or not. It doesn’t matter what she does to me, I’m not going to leave Quinn. I’m staying right here.

“YOU ARE THE WORST PERSON TO EVER WALK THE PLANET!” She screams at me while she’s lunging and curling her fists up for punches, but her dad grabs her really hard and really tight and uses the collar of her shirt to pull her away from me. “LET ME GO!”

“You need to calm down! Now, or I’ll make you go sit in the car!” Her dad yells at her and she instantly stops trying to kill me.

“I’M TELLING YOU, DAD. YOU NEED TO GET HER AWAY FROM ME!”

“No, you need to calm down!”

“IT’S HER! SHE —“

“Both uh you make me so fuckin’ sick.” Mrs. Jones says in a voice that’s a tone just under a hostile yell. She presses her fingers against her temple like she’s fighting off a headache and she barely acknowledges the tears rolling off her cheeks.

“Look Mom, I’m sorry. But Rachel —“ Mercedes tries to throw me under the bus and I feel like I should probably leave. I think I’ve worn out my welcome here…

“I don’t give uh shit what Rachel did or ain’t do to Quinn. I don’t give uh shit what she said or ain’t say to the doctors and I sure as hell don’t give uh shit what she knew or ain’t know. I don’t. And I don’t care about your feelings right now, ‘Cedes. I don’t care about your feelings and I don’t care about Rachel’s feelings. I don’t even give uh shit about your daddy’s feelings right now. You two are making me real fuckin’ sick with the bickering.”

Why do I feel like I’m being scolded right now? And why do I feel like I can’t say anything back? Why does she command so much respect?

“Now if you two can’t pull it together and shut the hell up for the rest of the time we’re here, then you two can both get the hell out. I don’t care where you go, but you ain’t gonna sit here and holler at each other in the middle of this hospital like you ain’t got no damn sense between you. I’m not listening to it anymore. It’s about Quinn. It ain’t about how much you two can’t get along. It ain’t about who love Quinn more or who treat Quinn better. It don’t matter. The only thing that matter right now is making sure she gets out of this alive. She in there half dead, not knowing if she gonna wake up or not and you two standing here screaming at each other like goddamn fools. You’re both being ridiculous. Just ridiculous. And I can’t stand to look at either one of you right now.”

She has a point. I know she has a point. I tried to bury the hatchet with Mercedes in Quinn’s room a little bit ago because I agree. This is about Quinn and we need to be strong for her. I tried to reach out and extend the olive branch, I put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her. But she snatched away. So this yelling isn’t my fault. It’s hers.

“Mercedes, go take a goddamn walk. And don’t come back until you ready to act like I will punch you in your mouth if you keep screaming in here. And Rachel, you too. You can get in your car and go the hell back home if you can’t get it together either.”

* * *

I didn’t want to stop and put on my jacket before I left because I felt like the tears were just seconds away from spilling out of my eyes and I really didn’t want to cry in a hospital in front of a bunch of strangers, if you know what I mean. There are times when I don’t mind the attention and other times when I actually crave it like a drug. But tonight, I don’t really want people to look at me. I want to just be able to slip by, completely undetected. I don’t want people to see me for the kind of person I am.

It shocks me when I walk through the sliding glass doors and feel how cold it is outside. It’s December and it’s Ohio, so I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s practically freezing outside, but I sort of thought that tonight wasn’t real. It feels like I’m on another planet and like time hasn’t been moving forward since I’ve been inside the hospital. Walking out into the cold with my bunny slippers on the blacktop asphalt and feeling the air cut through my Wicked t-shirt, I’m reminded that this is the same as it’s always been. It’s Ohio in December and it’s the same planet I’ve always been on. I just feel like a stranger to it now.

By some miracle, I remember exactly where I parked the car and I’m able to walk my freezing cold feet through the garage and down the second row. I turn the heat on as soon as I get into the car and maybe it makes me weird, but I’ve always found it easier to cry in a warm place than to cry in a cold place. I crank the heat all the way up before the door is even closed and reach into the backseat to grab the blanket that my dads keep in here for when we go to the drive-in theater. 

I told the Joneses that I was going home and even though Mrs. Jones yelled at me and probably thinks the worst of me now, she thanked me for coming. She thanked me for coming and gave me her number so that I could text her for updates but I don’t think I will. I think I should just leave them alone. It’ll kill me not knowing how Quinn is doing, but I don’t want to tear this apart. I’m putting a big rift in their family and I don’t want to be the one who does that.

Before I put the car in reverse so I can pull out of my parking spot, I lay my forehead against the steering wheel and let out all of my tears. I cried while driving home once and I almost wrecked into oncoming traffic, so I vowed that I’d never do that again. From then on, I started crying before I started driving. It just makes more sense to do it that way.

I can’t stop thinking about how Mercedes said I don’t love Quinn. She’s wrong, you know. I may only be sixteen (seventeen in a few days) and I may only be a junior in high school, but I know what love feels like. I know what love feels like. She can’t tell me that I don’t love Quinn.

Love feels like the tingles in my stomach that caught fire when I woke up in the hotel bed and she was next to me. It’s the way my stomach lurched and I felt lightheaded when she told me that Puck raped her. It’s feeling sick because she went through pain that I couldn’t take away from her. Love feels like the way my fingers trembled when she told me what her dad used to do to her sister because I was angry that he upset her and even angrier because I couldn’t do anything about it. It’s wanting to hold her hand when she’s scared because I want her to know that she’s not alone. It’s wanting to cry when she cries and wanting to yell when she yells. It’s the moments when I pull her close in the middle of the night because she’s having a nightmare that I want to save her from. Love feels like wanting to take my eyes out of my skull and give them to her so she can see herself the way I see her. It’s wishing I was there when she was bleeding and unconscious because I wanted her to feel every ounce of love surrounding her. It’s watching her fight for her life and wishing that I could take her place. Love is everything about the way I feel for Quinn Fabray.

And if the way I feel about her isn’t love? Then what is it?

Maybe Mercedes is right. Maybe I don’t love Quinn the way Quinn needs to be loved. But just because I don’t love her the way Mercedes thinks I should love her doesn’t mean that I don’t love her with everything I have. I love Quinn the way I know how to love Quinn. I love Quinn through anxiety and fear. Maybe she thinks she’s the messed up one in our relationship, but if she got into my head… well, she’d change her mind.

I feel like I’ve cried all I can cry right now, but a new round is going to come in a few minutes and I should wait before I start driving. I should wait, so I check my phone for the first time in a few hours and find nothing but missed calls from my dads. I’m going to be in a heap of trouble when I finally do get home, but it’s the kind of trouble that’s worth it. I needed to be here tonight. Even though I ruined everything.

I swipe past the missed calls from my dads and scroll through my call history until I find Kurt’s number. Sometimes I call him when I just need company. There have been many times where we call each other on FaceTime and say absolutely nothing because we just need to know that someone is there. I can’t begin to even estimate how many times I’ve fallen asleep with the phone in my hand because I needed my best friend to just be there with me.

The phone rings five or six times before he finally picks up.

“What are you still doing up? You’re usually knocked out sleeping by now.” He answers and by the sound of his voice, I know he wasn’t sleeping but he does seem busy.

“Kurt…” I call his name and my voice cracks and I’m mad at myself for not being able to hold it together. Now he’s going to know that I’m crying and he’s going to want to fix it and I don’t want that. I don’t want his sympathy. I just want him to sit with me and tell me that I’m not a horrible human.

“Are you crying? Rachel, what’s wrong?” He sounds concerned but also busy. Just very busy. “Hurry up, explain. I don’t have long, Blaine’s in the shower and —“

“Do I just totally suck as a human being?” I put the phone on speaker and lay it on top of the dashboard so I can talk while wiping my tears. “Am I just a totally horrible person?”

“Rachel…” He sighs and in the background, I hear something like a door opening. “You know I don’t think you’re a horrible person. You know I think you’re wonderful.”

Hearing him say that makes me smile, but I’m not sure how much the smile counts when tears are still free falling from my face and splashing down onto my pants. I hear Blaine’s voice saying something in the background but I can’t make out what he’s saying. If tonight was any other night, I’d be questioning him about why he’s with Blaine on a school night but I don’t care about that. What I care about is Quinn and being a good person who actually deserves her and I can’t even say that. I can’t even talk to my best friend about my girlfriend being in the hospital and being so close to dying because I don’t want word getting around school…

“Hey listen,” he says to me after Blaine stops talking in the background. “I’d love to sit here all night and talk to you. You know, build your confidence back up. But whatever happened, you’ll get through it. It’s just a minor setback. You’re awesome and you’re not a horrible person and you’re gonna do great things. The best things. Okay? Lemme hear you say okay.”

“Okay…” I whisper.

“I gotta go, okay? Blaine’s… he’s… he’s going through something and he needs me. But maybe we can go to Lima Bean tomorrow and talk if you’re not feeling better.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay. Talk to you later? Bye?”

“Bye.”

He hangs up first and I just stare at the phone for a few uninterrupted moments. Blaine needed him so he had to go. But I need him too… Quinn might die and Mercedes hates me and I’m pretty sure her parents probably hate me and Quinn’s going to die thinking that I don’t love her and Mercedes is never going to forgive me. All of this is happening to me and I need him, too. I need him…

I need someone. Anyone.

I know it’s not my best idea and I know that given recent history, I should stay away from him if I want anything to work out with me and Quinn ever again, but he’s my last hope. I don’t have anyone else to turn to. Kurt’s busy and Quinn’s dying and I can’t tell anyone what’s going on and the only person who knows what’s going on and can relate to how I’m feeling tries to fight me every time I look at her and I feel alone. I feel so alone and he’s my last hope…

I tap on Finn’s number and listen to the phone ring with a heavy knot in my chest. There’s a good chance that he won’t answer, but he’s a good guy. He’s a really good guy and I think he’ll know that I wouldn’t call him this late on a school night if it wasn’t important. He always answers for me… and he’s my friend so maybe he’ll listen.

“Hello?” He doesn’t sound groggy or anything when he answers, so maybe he wasn’t asleep.

“Hey.” I try my hardest to disguise the tears in my voice. “I’m sorry, I know it’s really late and it’s a school night, but I was just hoping that maybe we could talk… about something?”

“Something like… what?”

“I don’t know… anything. I just… need to talk about anything.”

“Dude, you can’t call me at 11:30 on a school night and not tell me what you’re calling me about. It’s just not right”.

“I just need to talk, okay?! I don’t care what we talk about, I just need to talk. You’re the only one I can talk to right now, Finn. I’m having a really tough time and I feel like a horrible person and you’re —“

“Well gee, Rachel, I dunno. Maybe you should have thought about wanting to talk to me late nights when your self esteem is in the toilet before you basically called me meaningless and stupid.  _ After _ you kissed me.” He sounds angry… oh no. “I can’t talk to you like this anymore. I can’t be your go-to guy whenever you don’t even really want to be with me. I don’t know what we are but it’s confusing and I can’t talk to you like this anymore.”

“Wait, no, Finn, you don’t understand! I didn’t mean that you were meaningless, I just meant that the kiss was meaningless and it was a stupid thing for me to do and —“ The phone rustles for a moment before it goes completely silent. “Finn?” Nothing. “Finn?” He hung up.

Now I officially have no one. I officially have no one and I’m sitting in my car outside the hospital that my girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or whatever is dying inside of and I have no one to talk to. I’m sitting in my car crying so hard that my stomach muscles are sore and I have no one to talk to. Is this what I get?

If this were a movie, it would be the moment in the second act where the audience gets to see the softer side of the main character (me). This would be the point where everyone starts to sympathize with her and see that she’s not as horrible as she seems. This is the part where everyone gets that she is just misunderstood.

Except… it’s not a movie. This is real life. And in real life… 

Rachel Berry really is horrible and nobody should sympathize with her. She’s not this terribly misunderstood spoiled brat who’s really insecure on the inside with a heart of gold underneath all her selfish layers. She’s every bit of a horrible person. She doesn’t think about anyone except herself, she does everything for dramatics and theatrics, she doesn’t take anything seriously and she looks for the perfect opportunity to make a story out of other people’s tragedies. She doesn’t care enough about her girlfriend to admit to adults that she has a problem. She ignores her girlfriend every chance she gets. She pulls rank against her girlfriend’s best friend and no wonder she doesn’t have any friends willing to lend an open ear and listen to her cry. This is not a movie. This is not drama. This is real life. And real life is harsh.

I should have told everyone that Quinn was bulimic. When I came to her house and cleaned up her kitchen after she threw up blood, I knew. I knew that this was something bad. And when I heard the way she talked about sneaking downstairs and eating food when nobody was watching, I knew that there was something bad going on. But I really wanted to believe that she was okay. I really wanted to believe that her therapist was helping her through it. I really wanted to mind my own business and not push something that I didn’t even know whether I should should push. I never thought that it was as bad as I was. I never thought that I’d be getting the call that she hurt herself because of it. I should have told. She’s going to die and it’s all my fault because I should have told.

She treats me well, you know? She’s always there when I need someone to talk me down, she’s really attentive to my admittedly high maintenance needs, she changed everything that I selfishly told her I didn’t like about her, and she gives me 110% to make the relationship work. She’s faithful to me, she cares about me, and when she tells me she loves me, I can tell she really means it. She treats me so well. And then I… I’m horrible.

But I never meant to love her, you know? I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for my life to change.

Two months ago, I was fine. I was just sitting in my room posting covers on YouTube that nobody ever watched. I had Kurt and I was happy and I had Finn and I was content. My life was fine. It wasn’t perfect, but it was fine. Then Mr. Schue told me that I had to do a duet with her and nothing was the same after that. I was scared at first because I thought maybe she’d try to sabotage me or do something petty like put gum in my hair. She hated me. For whatever reason, she absolutely hated me and I thought for sure that she would take the duet opportunity to make my life miserable again.

We sat in my room and tried to pick a song and I remember thinking that she was being really nice. She didn’t insult me, didn’t tell me that I was annoying or ugly. She listened to me when I made a song suggestion and laughed when I told a stupid joke. But more important than anything, she listened to me. When I told her how it felt to grow up not knowing my mother, she listened to me. And she didn’t make fun of me. And that was the night when I started to see her, you know? I saw beyond the red and white uniform and the ponytail with the perfect curl. I’m not talking about how pretty she was, because I’ve always thought that Quinn was beautiful. That’s not what I mean when I say that I started to see her.

I mean that I saw a person. Someone with fears and insecurities just like me. Someone who breathed the same air I did and put her pants on one leg at a time like me. I looked into her eyes and I saw a soul that didn’t match the person who made fun of me on social media or drew embarrassing pictures of me in the bathroom. I saw a soul in her that was broken, but very true.

She kept being nice to me after that. She kept being nice and inviting me to hang out with her and I started to feel like maybe we were friends and that scared me. I thought she had ulterior motives. I thought that she and Santana made some sort of bet about her befriending me and it was going to end with me at the prom getting pig’s blood dumped on my head. I waited for the other shoe to drop and it didn’t. Finn broke up with me for no reason and it hurt. It hurt because I could feel my popularity plummet and I could almost taste the slushees that would be thrown in my face once I was a loser again. I drank so much that I couldn’t see straight that night. I was beyond drunk and she took me to her house and made waffles in her kitchen at three in the morning and I saw her again.

She pressed the waffle iron closed and I saw blonde hair falling to the middle of her back and perfect skin that glowed like the sun was shining on her. I saw a smile that most people have to pay to accomplish and a human that I could forgive. I saw a human that I liked. She gave me the waffle she made me and when our hands touched, something shifted inside of me.

We laid down in bed and I was still drunk, but I remember telling myself to go with the shift. I tried to close my eyes and sleep but I kept seeing her in the Tinkerbell costume. I got flashes of green sparkly fabric hugging her body and a perfect smile and the crunch of fresh waffles on my teeth. The whole thing made me want to kiss her. So I did. I did and my life has been different ever since.

I went home the next day and googled some things. It was overwhelming. There’s gay, there’s lesbian, there’s bisexual, there’s pansexual and all of them sounded a little like me. There were so many labels to put on myself, so many categories to make myself fall into and I just… cried. I cried because it was confusing and it was overwhelming and I didn’t know if kissing Quinn made me a lesbian because I also liked kissing Finn so maybe that meant I was bisexual but then gay is only for boys so why do some girls use the term too and I also wouldn’t mind dating just about anyone as long as they make me happy, so didn’t that make me pansexual? My mind was spinning and I was confused and I cried.

My dads are gay. When I came to them crying because I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Quinn, I told them that I thought I was gay. Or lesbian. Or maybe bisexual. Or maybe even pansexual. They accepted me. They hugged me and told me that they loved me no matter what and I’m not saying that I’m ungrateful for that, okay? I realize that not a lot of gay kids get that kind of respect from their parents (Quinn is a prime example). I’m incredibly grateful to have parents who accept me.

But I didn’t want to be gay, acceptance or not.

I wanted things to go back to normal. I wanted to be dating Finn again and I wanted Quinn to be mean to me again and I wanted to stop looking at her in the hallways, wishing that I could taste her lips one more time. I wanted to go back to what was comfortable. I wanted to go back to being straight. I didn’t want a life where I couldn’t hold her hand walking down the hallway, I didn’t want a life where I had to worry about being judged when I kissed her. I wanted to be normal and I thought — I mean I  _ really  _ thought — that I could bury that part of me who liked kissing Quinn so deep and continue living my life as a straight girl.

I realized I loved her after we had sex for the first time. 

I woke up the next morning and we were still naked and I remembered what we did the night before. I looked over at her and she looked so beautiful, sleeping on her stomach with the blankets covering everything except her bare shoulders. I thought about the way her fingers felt when they were tangled up in my hair and scratching my scalp. I thought about the way our bodies shared heat and sweat when we rubbed against each other and kissed. It was the way I never felt closer to another human being that made me realize I loved her.

When Mercedes accuses me of not really loving her, she doesn’t see how much I do.

She doesn’t see that try my best to love her through everything but in reality, I live every single day of my life trying to love Quinn through fear. The truth is…

I’m scared to death every time I feel myself falling a little more in love with her. I have anxiety attacks when I look at her and realize how much of my heart she has in her possession. I want to find the nearest closet and lock myself inside when I realize just how attached to her I am getting and how dependent on her for my happiness that I am.

We have sex for the first time and I get a little spacey. She goes missing and when she’s found, I tell her that I love her and then I ignore her for a week straight and try to push her away by saying mean things that I don’t mean. She tells me a big family secret and then I give her her first orgasm and then I run and kiss Finn. I… I try to blow it up, okay? Things get more serious, we take our relationship to a new level, I fall further in love with her and then I do something to blow it up. It’s what I do.

Because I am terrified everyday of loving her.

Girls like me don’t date girls like that. (Up until two months ago, I didn’t think girls like me dated any girls at all, actually. But girls like me certainly don’t date girls like that.) Girls like her call me names and try to trip me down the stairs. They make fun of my nose and the way I dress. They put sticky notes on my back, deface my yearbook pictures and fill my locker with notes that say I’m ugly. They repost my singing videos and call me a loser. They draw pictures of me in the bathroom that I have to scrub off with bleach while I cry and they laugh when I get a slushee in my eye. Girls like that make my life miserable. And up until this year, Quinn was the ringleader. So excuse if me I don’t act like I love her enough… but I just find it really hard to believe that she loves me.

I fell for her. I fell hard and fast and landed right on my head and got a concussion, if you know what I mean. I fell for the girl who used to bully me and even though she’s clearly shown me that she’s changed, I still live every single day afraid that she’s going to come back and terrorize me again and then this will be all just a big laughing joke for everyone in the school. You know? Haha. Rachel Berry fell in love with Quinn Fabray. Now she’s heartbroken. I can’t believe she fell for her. That’s what she gets.

I didn’t mean to kiss Finn. I shouldn’t have done it because now…now I messed things up with Quinn and she’s dying and I don’t know if I will be able to repair it even if she does pull through. I love her so much and I tried to blow it up by kissing Finn because I am terrified of loving her. And I know it’s wrong, I know it is. But I want to hurt her before she pulls the rug out from under me and hurts me first.

I wish I had never kissed Finn. I wish I had never done it. I wish I could believe her when she says she loves me. I wish I could just forget about all the torture she used to inflict on me. I wish I could move on. I wish I was a better Rachel Berry. I wish I was someone Quinn deserves… I wish I wasn’t someone who consistently let Quinn down… I wish I wasn’t such a horrible human being… I wish I didn’t let everyone down…

I use my shirt to wipe away my tears and I have something in my head and maybe if I get it all down on paper it won’t be inside of me anymore, threatening my sanity. I reach over into the glovebox and grab the black pen that my dads keep in here for when they have to write checks.

There’s an old Starbucks receipt in the cupholder, so I smooth it out and hold it against the steering wheel and I write until the words stop flowing out of me.

_ I have a lot I should be grateful _

_ But some days I’m so unstable _

_ I can’t see anything clearly _

_ I don’t even wanna be around me _

_ How can anybody else like me this way? _

_ Somehow my songs still get played _

_ And there’s never not words coming out my mouth _

_ I know it isn’t the end all be all _

_ But somehow my life’s going down south _

_ Good things all around me all the time _

_ But I hardly ever see _

_ I’m tired of feeling all the feelings _

_ Human beings let me down _

_ Human beings let you down _

_ What do you want, shrug my shoulders _

_ I keep losing my composure _

_ I can’t breathe _

_ Please open a window _

_ All the way I let the breeze in _

_ I don’t know what I believe in anymore _

_ Real change is hard _

_ I try not to freak out _

_ Tried not to worry about the future _

_ I know I’m not alone and everyone feels like a loser _

_ Human beings let you down _

  
When I’m done writing, I look at my song through misty eyes. I don’t know if it’s going to do any good but maybe if I sing this then everyone will understand what goes on in my head and understand that I don’t try to be a horrible person, I just am…

Maybe there’s still one person I can talk to….

**Text Message**

**Tuesday, December 10**

**11:57 p.m.**

**ME: ** Hey, are you awake? I really need to talk...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own the copyrights to Rachel’s song. I didn’t write it myself. If you’re interested in what song it is though, it is called Human Beings by The Wind and the Wave and now I really want to hear Lea Michele sing it. Ugh.


	67. Colors

When my phone buzzes in the cupholder, I feel it vibrating against my knee before I actually hear it. Then my eyes open up slowly and my legs are cramping because I’ve been laying in one spot for too long.

I don’t know exactly when I fell asleep, but I know I must have cried until I was tired because my eyes are still itchy and heavy and they only feel like this whenever I wake up after crying myself to sleep. I have to wipe a little bit of drool off my chin with the back of my hand and unravel myself from my blanket before my hands are free and I’m able to grab my phone.

The caller ID on my screen says “Your Mom”, but I’m really just concerned about the time. I never meant to fall asleep. I was just supposed to stay in the parking garage until I got all my tears out of my system because I’m a long way from home and driving an hour while I’m crying just seemed dangerous. I guess it doesn’t really matter what time I get home anymore because I’m not going to be any more or less grounded if I come home in an hour or two hours. It’s almost 1:30 in the morning and it’s safe to say I’m not going to school today. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate in school anyway.

I yawn a little bit, then swipe my finger across the screen to answer my phone. I don’t have enough energy or sense about myself after waking up to hold the phone to my ear, so I put it on speaker phone instead.

“Hello?” My voice is almost gone and it sounds really raspy, probably from all the yelling and crying I’ve done recently.

“Hey sweetie, you’re finally answering your phone.” She sounds like she’s in the car. I hear air gushing all around her and her voice sounds like it’s far away so either she’s outside or she’s driving in her car. Driving seems more plausible at this hour of the night/early morning. “I got your text and I’ve been calling you nonstop. What’s going on? Is it about Quinn?”

“Sorry,” I sit upright and stretch out my legs so I can have this conversation. “I must’ve fallen asleep as soon as I texted you, I… I was tired. Is what about Quinn?”

“You said you wanted to talk. In your text, you asked me if I was awake because you needed to talk. What’s the matter? Is it about Quinn?”

“You heard?”

“I was worried about you, I called her phone because I thought she might know where you were.” I hear the steady ticking of a turn signal in the background and that’s when I’m certain that she’s in the car. “Mercedes answered and told me what’s been going on. I’m on my way right now, but I still wanted to talk to you. Are you okay?”

“You’re on your way here?” That really wakes me up. I was groggy before and sort of contemplating on going right back to sleep because when I sleep, I don’t have to worry about Mercedes hating me and what a horrible person I am. I’m wide awake now, though. “Like, here as in Dayton?”

“Yeah. Mercedes told me they have her at the children’s hospital. I dropped Beth off with my friend and decided to run up and make sure everything’s okay. I heard it’s really bad. Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m just out in the parking garage. My phone needed charged a little bit and I wanted to try and get some rest.” I lie to her so easily. I don’t mean to lie, but I don’t know how to tell her that I left because all I ever do is hurt Quinn. I know she’s my mom, but she has a good moral compass guiding her and I don’t think she’d take my side if she knew how wrong I am. She’d probably hate me just as much as I hate myself. “I was going to leave a little bit ago, but I… fell asleep, I guess.”

“You were leaving? Why? Is Quinn okay now? I haven’t talked to anybody in a while, I haven’t asked for an update, I just wanted to focus on getting there.”

“No, Quinn’s not okay. I mean, she’s still in bad shape. I think. I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know, I haven’t gone back inside in a while, I don’t know what they’re saying. She was dying while I was in there and then I just —“

“She was dying?!”

“She passed out. Me and Mercedes were arguing and we were yelling and then she just lost consciousness and they made everybody get out of the room so they could shock her, but that’s the last I heard. I don’t know how she’s doing, I… I don’t know…” My voice cracks and I wanted to try and be tough about this whole thing and not cry because I know she’s going to try and comfort me but I don’t deserve to be comforted. I know I don’t deserve comfort. But I really do need it…

“You haven’t been back in since then?” She asks but it’s not accusatory or anything. It’s just a genuine question.

“No…” My head shakes on instinct and the tears rolling down my cheeks give me the chills. “I shouldn’t be in there.”

“Honey, what makes you say that? Why are you even thinking like that? Are you thinking that Quinn isn’t going to make it? Because she will. She’s tough and Dayton Children’s Hospital is great, it’s the only place I ever take Beth when she’s sick.”

“Every time I’m in there, Mercedes just wants to kill me. She slapped me, she’s been trying to —“

“Why’d she hit you?”

“Because I made a mistake. I made a mistake — several mistakes, actually — and now Quinn is paying the price for it.” I lean forward so I can rest my head against the steering wheel. I’ve only been awake for about five minutes or so and I’m already crying my eyes out again. My body should really run out of tears. “She’s dying and I’m pretty sure at least 90% of it is my fault. It’s all my fault. She’s dying and it’s my fault and everybody in that hospital hates me right now and I really need somebody on my side so if you could just get here… if you could just get here, Shelby. I’d really appreciate it. I need someone right now. I need a mom. I need _ my _mom.”

“I’m almost there, okay? I’m on my way, I’m almost there. But right now I need you to listen to me.” I don’t know how she does it. She always seems so calm and collected, like she’s lived through every experience before so she knows how to counsel me and get me through it. It’s very weird and oddly soothing. It’s something I wish I inherited from her. “I need you to pull yourself together. I need you to take as long as you need to, sit in the car, and pull yourself together. Because when you go back into that hospital, you need to have your head on straight. You don’t know what you’re walking back into; you don’t know if Quinn is okay or if she’s not okay or if she’s fighting for her life. You just don’t know. So when you go back in there, you need to have a clear head. And you need to remember that you’re there for Quinn. You care about her just as much as everyone that’s there and you deserve to be there with them. It doesn’t matter what Mercedes or anyone else says. It doesn’t matter how you feel. What matters is that you’re there for Quinn right now because she needs you. She needs all of us. She needs everyone who cares about her.”

“...I love her, Mom.” I take a deep breath but the tears won’t stop. “Everybody says we’re young and we won’t last and it’s just a high school relationship and stuff. And maybe they’re right, you know? Maybe they’re right. But I really, really love her.”

“I believe you. I believe that you love her. And if you love her the way you say you do, you would pull yourself together and get back in that hospital.”

“Okay.” I run my fingers through my hair once the tears finally stop. I don’t know if she’s right. I don’t know if it’s going to help anything if I go back into the hospital, but I do know that I still want to be there for Quinn.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, okay? And then we can talk?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you when I get there.”

“See you.”

She hangs up first and I unwrap myself from the blanket completely. I thought that maybe if I slept, I’d wake up and feel a little clearer about the entire situation and would know the right thing to do, but that hasn’t been the case. When I woke up, I still felt just as confused and lost as I felt when I first decided to leave the hospital. I still feel that way, actually. But talking to my mom gave me a new sense of hope and that’s the one thing I’m going to hold onto. I don’t know if me and Quinn will work this out. Heck, I don’t even know if Quinn will be alive after tonight. All I know is that I can only plan for what’s happening right now and right now, I want to be there for the love of my life.

I throw my blanket in the backseat and get out of the car again, my phone in tow.

I could’ve gone my whole life without loving Quinn and I would have been just fine. I’d have married Finn and gone on to do Broadway or something of the sort. We’d have three kids; two girls and a boy and the only reason we didn’t stop after two is because Finn really wanted a boy. I’d retire from performing after winning a Tony and then we’d move back to Lima and settle down with our three kids. Finn would be some kind of teacher at McKinley and I’d be a bored, stay-at-home mom who uses the money she earned performing to keep the family afloat. Every night I’d make dinner and stare longingly at the piano that I never get to play or the microphone I never get to sing into anymore because I’m too busy running between soccer practice and dance recitals. Before bed, Finn would roll over and tap me on my shoulder and I’d lie on my back and grit my teeth through five minutes of meaningless, pleasureless sex. On our twentieth wedding anniversary, he’d tell me that he found someone new and I wouldn’t really care; I’d sign the divorce papers willingly because I’m too smart to not notice that things between us haven’t been right lately. I’d turn 60 and get diagnosed with breast cancer or multiple sclerosis or whatever incurable disease that I’ll die from. And that’s how Rachel Berry would have lived. A boring, loveless, empty life. A life that’s not even worth living, if I hadn’t loved Quinn Fabray.

I could have been okay without Quinn. I could have swallowed my feelings and gone through with a life that was black, white and shades of gray.

But see, with Quinn, it’s nothing like that. With Quinn, everything excites me. With Quinn… I have a future that I’m excited about and the possibilities are endless.

We’ll graduate high school and move to New York together. We’ll get our own apartment where we can decorate it however we like and leave our Christmas tree up year round. We’ll take turns making dinner and washing the laundry, having stupid arguments about whose turn it is to clean the bathroom and then we’ll laugh it off because at the end of the night, she’ll roll over and wrap her arms around my waist and it won’t matter. We’ll walk each other to class. She’ll get her degree in something really cool like fashion design and I’ll get mine in drama and we’ll go out searching for jobs that barely pay the bills because how the hell do you make any money with a drama and a fashion designing degree? We’ll be broke and struggling, but who the hell cares when we have each other? My big break will come when I get the lead in some big production and my name will be in lights scrolling across all the marquees in downtown New York City. We’ll finally have the money we need to stop struggling and Quinn will be happy for me, not jealous that my career is taking off. Then one morning, she’ll get a call from someone who saw her work in a magazine and they want her to design costumes for a new show they’re putting on Netflix. Before I know it, my girlfriend is the youngest woman to ever win an Emmy for best costume design and when she gets up on the stage to accept her award, she thanks her beautiful wife for everything. We’ll go back to New York and find a beautiful house on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. And the day after my 30th birthday, I’ll come to her and say that I’m ready to have a baby and she’ll be so excited. We’ll find a sperm donor that looks like me; dark hair, dark eyes, big nose, the works. We’ll pay the best doctor in the entire state to go in and take Quinn’s eggs out and put them inside of me. It’ll be a girl, I’ve decided. She’ll have Beth’s curly hair and Quinn’s hazel eyes, but my brown hair and olive-toned skin. She’ll be perfect and we’ll dote on her and spoil her and she’ll be everything we need. We won’t need to have another one. Beth will come visit us during the summers and she’ll have a good relationship with her sister and we won’t even care about having more babies because we got it right the first time. Me and Quinn, we’ll be so happy. All we’ll need is each other. I’ll die knowing that my life was full and I’ve loved and been loved.

My life would be full of color.

Maybe I do want to go back to before I kissed Quinn, back when I still straight because that’s easier. It’s easier than getting weird looks when you walk up the hallway and easier than feeling like it’s wrong every time you have sex with your girlfriend. Maybe I want to go back to easier times.

But there is nothing in this world that would make me want to go back to living a life where I couldn’t be everything I want to be. I will never go back to who I was without Quinn. I didn’t know what I could be until I found her. The idea of me being anything but straight seemed so crazy and out of this world. But the idea of living without her seems even crazier.

I can’t live without her. I can’t go back to having a life that’s black and white. I need her color.

That’s what I hold onto as I step off the elevator and walk back onto the pink floor. I’m here for her, not for anyone else. I’m here for the one who puts a little bit of color into my black and white world.

When I round the corner to get back to Quinn’s room, I don’t see Mercedes and her parents in the hallway, which is probably a good sign. It’s good because for one, I don’t have to worry about being punched in the face for now. It’s also good because it probably means that Quinn is stable enough for them to leave. I don’t know how late the cafeteria stays open, but they’re probably down there getting something to eat or drink because the doctor said that Quinn is okay and needs to rest.

I get to her room — room 521 — and pull the curtains back since I don’t hear anyone talking or yelling or running a code blue on her anymore. She’s probably just sleeping. She’s probably resting so that when she wakes up she can —

“Oh,” I jump back a little, startled when I see an older man taking the sheets off the bed that Quinn was lying in once upon a time. Quinn’s not here. There’s not even any sign of her. There’s nothing that indicates that she was even here, ever. This is room 521… isn’t it?

“You need something?” The guy asks me as I crane my neck to check the number on the outside of the door. Sure enough, it says 521. This is Quinn’s room. Where is Quinn?

“Yeah, I um…” I scratch my head, more for dramatics than anything but my head really was itching. “I’m looking for someone? The girl that was in this room? Quinn? Or, Lucy. Lucy Fabray?”

“Dunno who you’re talking about, hon. I’m afraid I can’t help you find her.” He throws the sheets into a big hamper and starts putting new ones on. “They cleared this room about an hour ago. Sent me in here to clean it. They need the bed for someone else.”

Oh my god, did Quinn die? Why would they move her? She has to be dead. Oh my god, she died. This can’t be happening to me, this can’t be real. She can’t be dead, no. No. She’s not dead. She can’t be dead. She can’t be dead, we were supposed to have a colorful future. She’s my color. She can’t be dead, this isn’t the way our love story is supposed to end. We’re supposed to have our baby. We’re supposed to move to New York and have our baby and we’re supposed to die together when we’re old and have lived to the fullest. She can’t be dead. I refuse to believe that she’s dead. She can’t be dead. I can’t live without her, I can’t exist in a world where she doesn’t exist too. I can’t do it.

“Do you know how I could find out what happened to her?” I take a step closer to the man and he probably thinks I’m crazy because I’m shaking but I don’t care. I don’t care how I look right now. “Who do I ask? How do I find out where they took her?”

“You can ask someone at the nurses’ station down the hall. I’m sure they’ll be able to help you.”

“The nurses’ station?” I take a step backwards, close to the door.

“Yeah, it’s down the hall. Down the hall, make a left. You can’t miss —“

I don’t even tell him “thank you”, which is extremely rude of me and my dads would surely yell at me if they knew, but I don’t have time to be polite. I just turn and run as fast as I can down the hallway, sliding in my bunny slippers and fully preparing myself for falling. I’m completely out of breath and a little bit sweaty when I reach the counter with the glass sealing it off. There’s a note that says “please don’t knock on the glass, someone will be right with you” but I ignore it and knock on the glass anyway.

The nurse that pulls the glass aside looks really annoyed but it’s another thing that I just don’t care about tonight.

“Can I help you?” She asks. Despite the fact that she’s wearing yellow scrubs with smiley faces all over them, she looks anything but happy.

“I need to know where they took Quinn Fabray.” I can’t catch my breath, but I know I’m talking clearly so I don’t know why she’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have lost my mind…

“Who?”

“Quinn. Fabray. Where did they take her?! What happened to her?!”

“I’m sorry honey, I don’t —“

“LUCY! HER NAME IS LUCY FABRAY, SHE WAS IN ROOM 521 AND I LEFT ALMOST THREE HOURS AGO AND SHE WAS THERE. NOW SHE’S NOT. AND I NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHERE SHE IS. I NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO HER. HER NAME IS LUCY FABRAY, SHE’S FIVE FOUR OR FIVE FIVE, LIKE A HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN POUNDS, SHE HAS BLONDE HAIR AND HAZEL EYES AND HER BIRTHDAY IS NOVEMBER 11TH. FIND HER FOR ME. PLEASE.”

Why is it that I only get things done if I yell? I’m generally not a very violent person and I hardly ever raise my voice, but she was acting like she didn’t want to help me. She was acting like I’m a crazy person and they’ve never even heard of Quinn, so I yelled. I yelled and now her fingers are flying across the keyboard at lightning speed.

See what happens when I yell?

“Lucy Fabray…” Her eyes scan all over the computer screen and my throat is closing up because I feel like this is the moment where they’re going to tell me that my life is over because Quinn died. “It looks like…”

I close my eyes and wince at every word she says.

“It looks like she was moved up to ICU about an hour ago. ICU, bed number three.”

“ICU, which floor is that?”

“It’s the yellow floor. Take the elevator and —“

Again, I don’t bother telling her “thank you.” I bolt for the elevator and jam my thumb into the button to call it to my current floor.

Quinn isn’t dead. Thank god, thank god, thank god. She’s not dead. She’s in ICU, which is bad, I know. But she’s not dead. I know the ICU is for people who are extremely sick and an inch away from death usually, but she’s not dead. She’s not dead and I can sit down and talk to her and hold her hand and tell her all about our colorful future together if she can just please forgive me for kissing Finn. I had my reasons, okay? She has to just please forgive me. We’re supposed to be happy…

The elevator spits me out onto a floor that has sunflowers and suns painted all over the walls. The paint is a really soft, pastel kind of yellow and the floor tiles are very bright fluorescent yellow. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that this is the yellow floor. I have no idea where I’m headed or which way room number three is, but I’m smart enough to figure it out and yes, this hospital is huge but how hard can it be to find a room?

I walk calmly, not because I don’t want to run, but because if I run I’ll miss the room numbers. All I have to do is make a right down the sunflowery hallway, and I know that I’ve found the right place because Mercedes and her family are there. They’re at the end of the hallway, standing outside of the door that is labeled with a yellow number “3” on the outside. They’re standing side-by-side, but someone else is standing in front of them. She’s really tall and has long black hair. Her hair is so dark against her pale skin that she looks like a vampire. She’s wearing scrubs so I’m assuming she’s a doctor, but she’s a new one. I don’t remember seeing her before.

I’m slow with the way I approach, careful that I don’t set Mercedes off…

“...and stable, but she needs to keep her stress levels low so her blood pressure doesn’t climb again. Anybody who cannot control themselves or their emotions cannot and will not be allowed to see her, and that’s something I am prepared to strictly enforce. She’s very sick, and we have a treatment plan in place for her and I intend to adhere to it. You will meet with a few other doctors responsible for Quinn’s care, but they all answer to ME.” I don’t like the tone of the doctor’s voice. Actually, I don’t like her. I don’t like her at all. “Anything further about Quinn’s condition will not be discussed at this time. She’s my patient now and I say what goes. Anything further will need to be discussed with Quinn’s LEGAL guardians.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, but I already know that nobody is going to answer. Everyone’s too wrapped up in what Dr. Bitch is saying. Truth be told, I’m a little wrapped up in it too.

“Now hold on,” Mrs. Jones shrugs out of the supportive side-hug that Mr. Jones was giving her and takes a step toward the doctor. Even though Dr. Bitch is an entire head taller than her, Mrs. Jones doesn’t seem like she’s going to back down. “You ain’t about sit here and say that you ain’t telling us what’s going on with her because we ain’t her legal guardians. No ma’am. I—“

“I’m sorry, but it’s policy. You are not that little girl’s parents and by rights, you shouldn’t even —“

“WE THE ONES THAT GOT HER!” Mrs. Jones has tears rolling down her cheeks, but she seems so strong. Her chin is up, she’s facing this woman head on and her face isn’t even cracking. It’s just a little bit of tears. “She sick, I buys her medicine and make her soup. She crying, I’m the one who dry her tears. She mad, I calm her down. She need something, I buy it. She hungry, I fix her dinner. She cold, I get her blanket. She ran away and I’m the one who held that little girl and told her she was okay. I’m the one who stripped her down naked and helped her take a bath when she couldn’t. When we found her on the floor, I’m the one who picked her up and cried for her. We the ones who did CPR and brought her here. You wanna tell me I ain’t her mama? Blood ain’t gonna make her my daughter no more than she already is. So you better tell me what’s going on with my baby. You BETTER let me know how my girl is doing, or I swear to god. You wanna tell me I ain’t her mama, then where is her mama? You see anybody else here? I’M her mama. She belongs to me.”

Dr. Bitch holds Mrs. Jones’ gaze for a few moments like she’s waiting for Mrs. Jones to be the one to look away first. But when she realizes that Mrs. Jones isn’t going to waver, she looks down and starts flipping through a bunch of papers.

“Hey Rachel,” Mr. Jones puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes as he greets me in a very low voice. “Thought you went home for a minute there.”

“I just… I sat in the car. I needed to get some air.” I let him keep his hand on my shoulder for a few moments before I turn to face him. “Is she okay?”

“She’s hanging in there.” He nods. “They’re running some tests on her right now, but when they’re done we can see her.”

“Did they say what happened? Why she passed out like that?”

“They’re not really telling us anything anymore, but —“

“WHAT HAPPENED?!” A completely new voice yells as it approaches us from up the hallway and all of us turn to see who it came from at the same time.

I’ve never seen her in person before, but I know exactly who she is. Her heels clack up the hallway like she’s sophisticated and I’d expect nothing less from a Fabray. Her brown mink coat flows as she walks and every time it flaps open, it gives way to see her white t-shirt covered by her navy blue blazer. Her jeans are distressed and have straggly pieces hanging at the ankles, but she looks super polished. Her hair is dark brown, unlike Quinn’s and it’s got a slight curl to it like Beth’s. Her eyes match the Fabray eyes though, and her bone structure is almost as perfect as Quinn’s.

She has no tears in her eyes, but her makeup is slightly smudged so I can tell that she was crying once upon a time. She drops her designer purse on the floor when she reaches us and finally takes a long, deep breath.

“What happened to her?” She asks, looking at all of us for an answer.

Dr. Bitch is the first one to speak up, of course. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“Francesca Fabray,” she holds her hand out and shakes the doctor’s like it’s strictly business. “What happened to my sister?”

“Are you her biological sister? Because I can only give information to the family and —“

“I just said my last name is Fabray, didn’t I?! Just tell me what happened to my sister. Tell me if she’s gonna be okay.” Frannie folds her arms across her chest as the doctor pulls her aside, away from us, and starts explaining to her exactly what’s going on with Quinn.

“That Frannie?” Mr. Jones asks. “You think she told Russel and Judy? You think they’re gonna show up?”

“I don’t give a good goddamn if she called them or not and I don’t give a good goddamn if they show up or not. Me and ‘Cedes called them once on the way up here and they ain’t answer, so to hell with them.” Mrs. Jones rants. “All that matters is that she’s here. Quinn needs everyone who cares enough to come and if they don’t care then she don’t need them. Period.”

“My mom’s on her way.” I tell them because I feel like it’s a fair thing to do. I don’t want to surprise them with Shelby’s presence, even though I’m sure they won’t care that she comes. They probably already knew she was coming anyway, since she talked to Mercedes earlier. “She said she’s about half an hour out.”

“You two ain’t tell nobody at school yet, did you?” Mrs. Jones asks me and Mercedes.

“Just Tina,” Mercedes says. “And Sam. But they both swore not to tell and all I told them was that Quinn went to the hospital because she’s sick and we won’t be in school tomorrow. They won’t ask any questions.”

“I haven’t said a word to anyone.” I say, but I didn’t say that to sound like I’m better than Mercedes or anything. I said that because it’s the truth and I haven’t even thought about telling anyone. It’s just not in my thought process right now.

“Anybody who called Frannie?” Mercedes asks.

“I did,” I admit. I know I might cause an argument between us by admitting that I told Frannie, but I don’t care. I’m not here for Mercedes. I’m here for Quinn to know that we all love her and are waiting for her to pull through. “I Facebooked her before I left the house to come here and —“

“So you just decided to take it upon yourself and tell Quinn’s business?” Mercedes rolls her eyes at me and it’s getting a little old, her constantly being a bitch towards me. “Because you know what’s best for Quinn, right?”

“Mercedes, I don’t feel like —“

“No, it’s true. You think just because you, what? Sleep in the same bed as Quinn, have your face between her legs a few times and give her a pretty necklace that you know what’s best for her? That you know what she wants? Once again, you never think —“

“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! YOU THINK THAT —“

“NO, RACHEL. _ YOU _DON’T KNOW ANYTHING.” She yells back and I wish she would hit me and get it over with so she can shut up already. I’m so over arguing. I’m here for Quinn and nobody else. “She’s not on speaking terms with ANY of her family. The last time she saw her sister, she insulted her for being gay and —“

“She came back, Mercedes.” I have to really reign myself in so I don’t yell. I really want to yell and stick it to her and shove it in her face that this is something else she THINKS she knows about Quinn, but this isn’t the time. It’s not the time, it’s not the place and it’s not the point. “The next day, she came back and she and Quinn patched things up and they’re close now. Okay? They text every single freaking day now. And you can sit here and yell at me and be mad because she told me about her and Frannie and not you, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t have time to argue with you about who knows Quinn best and why Quinn tells me things that she doesn’t tell you. I don’t have time for it. I’m trying to do what’s right for Quinn. I never claimed to know what’s best for her, I’m just trying to do it. I promised her that I would do better and this is it. This is me doing better. She’d want her sister here, Mercedes. I know that for a fact.”

The look on Mercedes’ face says it all. She’s hurt and it’s bothering her on a deeper level to know that there’s yet another thing I knew about Quinn that she didn’t. She’s hurt and I feel for her, I really do. I think that maybe when this all settles down, she and I could have a really good talk about how to share Quinn and what it means to be important people in her life. But she has to let it go first.

“Now we can sit here and argue or we can sit here and think about what we’re going to do to make sure that Quinn comes out of this okay because like it or not, we are BOTH part of her life. I’m not going anywhere unless Quinn wants me to. I… I failed her enough. I’ve failed her too many times to count and I’m not about to do that anymore.” I shake my head. “You don’t matter anymore and your dislike for me doesn’t matter either. What’s important is that Quinn gets better and that’s all we should be focusing on.”

She picks her head up and looks at me with way softer eyes.

“I failed her already, Mercedes. I’m not doing it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed these chapters in Rachel’s point of view. It’s been fun, but I missed Quinn and we’re back to her next chapter! :) She’ll be ending out the story, (in 10 or so chapters) so that’s the last you’ll hear from Rachel’s POV.


	68. The Climb

_ I have to hold onto the wall as I walk down the hallway because my stomach feels so queasy that I honestly can’t stand upright. I’m glad that Mom went back downstairs and isn't lingering in the hallway because even though she’s mad at me right now, I know for a fact that she would be in my business and wondering why I’m holding onto the wall._

_ I don’t know why I feel so sick. Maybe it’s because I know what I did with Bailey today is just so horribly wrong and I think I just lost the last person who truly cared about me. Or maybe it’s because I’m fairly certain that Mom and Dad are going to kick me out. I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore. I don’t know why I’m just messing everything up lately. _

_ I broke up with Rachel and maybe I should have heard her out because I think there’s a reason she was kissing Finn. She’s been acting really different lately and I noticed it when we were on the bus going to regionals. She was acting quiet and kind of sad but I thought that she was just tired or something but I should’ve pushed. I should have pushed her to tell me what’s wrong instead of dumping my issues with what my dad did to Frannie on her. I should have noticed that something was wrong. Maybe I drove her into the arms of Finn. Maybe it was me who wasn’t emotionally available enough to hear her out. Maybe it was me… and I broke up with her for no reason._

_ Somehow I manage to make it to the bathroom without blowing chunks all over the floor. I shut the door behind myself and don’t bother locking it because I won’t be in here very long and Mom is too mad to come in here searching for me. I drag my feet over to the toilet, lift the seat up, and stare down into the water below as I feel my stomach constricting. _

_ I don’t know why I kissed Bailey, either. It was just… spur of the moment, I guess. She was looking at me and she was saying all those really nice things about me and telling me what I do and don’t deserve and she just made me feel special, okay? I felt special. For once in my life, I felt like my presence on this earth is not a complete waste and that I’m alive for a reason. She made me feel that way. And I think I loved her for it. It was a split second and a flash of something in my head. A split second and a flash of feeling like I didn’t Rachel anymore because Bailey is my soulmate. She was right in front of me all along and I kept ignoring her and ignoring the signs because I was so hung up on someone who doesn’t want to be with me. I swear I thought it was right. When I leaned in and I kissed her and she kissed me back — with tongue — I thought it was right. I didn’t care about the repercussions or how illegal it was. She wanted to kiss me and I wanted to kiss her and I swear it was the only thing that felt right since the first time I kissed Rachel. But I made a mistake. I made a mistake and now she’s gone and I can’t see her anymore and I think she really cared about me…_

_ My stomach constricts even without me putting my fingers in my mouth. My shoulders hunch and I feel it burning, rolling up from the pit of my stomach and into my throat. It comes up so fast that all I can do is open my mouth and hope that it lands in the toilet. The grilled cheese sandwich, purple grapes, french fries and iced tea I ate for lunch hit the bottom of the toilet so hard that the ball of food makes water splash up onto my shirt. I cough, spit. Cough, spit. I don’t think that’s it. I think I have more in there somewhere._

_ And as if all of that wasn’t enough, I cussed at Mom. I cussed at _ _ Mom. _ _ Mom, who’s been there for me more than anybody else in this world. Mom, who’s taken me in and treated me as her own and gave me a place to feel safe when I had nowhere else in this world I could go. Mom, the only person in this world that I look up to and tell myself to be more like. Mom… the best person I know. And I cussed at her. I cussed at her and now she’s going to give up on me too and I’m going to have no one and I don’t understand how my life was so good last week and this week it’s so bad and I’m losing everything that I care about and pushing everyone away and alienating myself and feeling so alone and I’m on medicine to help me but it’s not helping and everything is bad and nothing is good and I wanna go home and I miss my mom and I miss Rachel and I’m sorry that I cussed at mom and sorry that I kissed Bailey and sorry that I mess everything up and I’m so messed up and my head is scary and I’m just sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry… I’m sorry…_

_ There’s definitely more in there. I can feel it. It’s just sitting in the pit of my stomach and making me feel full I’m so full and it has to come out it has to come out of me it has to go somewhere it has to go away it has to be flushed it has to come out of me it can’t stay inside of me it’s killing me it’s inside of me and it’s killing me and it has to come out… it has to come out._

_ It burns my throat again when it shoots up from the pit of my stomach and I don’t take my fingers out of my mouth. This weird burbling noise comes out of me and all the contents of my stomach drip down my arm. Most of it falls into the toilet and onto the toilet seat._

_ It’s all water. Why is it all water? No, it can’t be water. It has to be food. There’s food in there, I can feel it. It’s in there and I’m dying and it has to come out._

_ I inch my fingers even further down my throat and the loudest noise I’ve ever heard comes out of my mouth, but still it’s just water. It can’t be water. I know it’s food. _

_I use the toilet seat to brace myself. My hands on either side, fingertips clutching the ledges. I watch the way the water I threw up makes the food sink to the bottom of the toilet. I’m coughing, dry heaving. I just have to catch my breath before I do it again. I’m not stopping until this food comes out and my stomach is empty. My stomach needs to be empty. I don’t… I don’t deserve to have food inside of me. I deserve nothing._

_ I wipe my fingers on the seat of my sweatpants because sometimes it’s easier when my fingers are dry and not slick and wet with my own saliva and vomit. My fingers are dry, I take a deep breath. My lips are parted, I creep my fingers down. Deep, deep, deep… half my hand is in my mouth._

_ Then suddenly, I feel it._

_ My stomach squeezes so hard that it doubles me over in pain, I make a noise that sounds like an animal being mauled by a bear, and I feel a large chunk of something working it’s way up my throat. It gets a little stuck. So I take my fingers out and cough really hard to force it the rest of the way up._

_ It’s soft, the size of a baseball, and lumpy. It plops down into the toilet and it’s black and I don’t recall eating anything black today… I didn’t eat anything black…_

_ Why is it turning red…? It’s turning red, it’s… it’s red, it’s in the water and there’s little ribbons of red leaking out around it and it’s breaking apart it’s breaking apart and it looks like coffee grounds what is this? This has never happened to me before and I’ve done this a lot, I’ve done this so many times and this has never happened…_

_ Something’s salty in my mouth. No, not salty. Metallic. Like… like rust mixed with a little bit of salt. That’s the taste of blood. Am I bleeding?_

_ I open my mouth and spit into the toilet but when I spit it’s like a river of blood just coming out of my mouth._

_ I’ve never seen blood this color before, I’ve never seen blood this dark. It’s deep, deep, dark red. It’s almost black. Black like the thing I just threw up. Why is there so much? There’s so much of it, there’s so much — OW!_

_ “Ahh,” I whimper and my hand flies up to my chest. My chest burns. Oh my god, my chest burns. It burns so bad, it’s like it’s on fire. My chest hurts. My chest burns. I need mom… I need her, but I can’t move. I can’t move, my chest hurts. My chest hurts. I can’t breathe._

_ I try to take one step away from the toilet but my legs feel like Jello underneath of me and more blood falls out of my mouth. I can’t stop coughing but coughing really hurts and my chest is really burning like someone poured fire down my throat and every time I cough, more blood just comes out of me. I need to get to mom…_

_ I crawl over to the sink and use the ledge to pull myself up and I leave a bloody handprint that I’m going to have to clean up. How am I going to explain this to them? How do I tell them that I threw up and now I’m bleeding?_

_ The ledge helps me up to my feet and when I see myself in the mirror, my face is covered in blood. From my nose down, I’m covered… COVERED… it’s just pouring out of my mouth like a faucet or something. And my throat feels like it’s gone._

_ I need mom… I think I messed up. I messed up, I think I might have just killed myself…? I think I’m dying. I don’t want to, but I have to lie down on the floor because my chest hurts so bad and I can’t breathe. I need mom… I think I’m dying._

_ I’m dying and I’m alone and — _

Four really loud, really harsh bangs against something glass makes my body jump, my heart race and my eyes snap open. 

My eyes burn for a second as they adjust to the sudden light, but I bring my hand up to rub them until they feel better. My arm still hurts pretty bad, that hasn’t changed. It must be the arm where they stuck all the needles into me, because my left arm doesn’t hurt. Just my right one does. I’m facing a window so I can see that it’s broad daylight and the sun is shining with no clouds in sight but there are snowflakes falling from the sky. Only when I swallow do I remember that my throat hurts pretty badly and it hurts even more as I try to pick my head up off the pillow. There’s a small drop of dried blood on the pillowcase where my mouth was, but it’s so small that I’m not really worried.

_ How long was I asleep?_

The four loud bangs make me jump again and I’m slow doing it, but I manage to turn around and face the direction they’re coming from. The numbers on some machine next to my bed start counting up very quickly, but I notice that they stop climbing and start going back down once I’m calm again. I have to blink a few times to make the person at the door a little clearer, but I’m pretty sure it’s…

“Fran?” My voice can still only reach just above a whisper and it still really hurts to speak, but at least I _ can _speak. Right?

“Oh, Luce!” My sister starts crying as soon as she hears my voice and runs over to my bed as if she didn’t just wake me up by knocking. Her arms swallow me up into a really big hug and my face is crushed between her boobs and I feel her tears dripping on my head and her hand hurts when it rubs my hair. _ Ouch, Frannie. Ouch. _“I’m sorry to wake you, I just… I needed you to wake up. I… I’m so glad you’re okay…”

_ Well I don’t know much about the way they’re treating me here, Fran. But I don’t think you should have woken me up. I think sleeping was the best way to go here. Thanks a lot._

“How are you feeling?” She finally releases me but she keeps her hand against my cheek. “Are you in any pain? The doctor said if you’re in pain, just push the call button and the nurse will come right in and give you more morphine.” 

_ I don’t think I want morphine. Morphine made me feel weird the last time they gave it to me. Yeah my throat hurts pretty damn bad but I’d rather have my right mind and my wits about myself before I take the pain away and be loopy._

“Are you comfortable?” She uses her fingers to brush my hair away from my face and starts fluffing my pillows. “You want some water? Actually, I’m not sure if you’re allowed to drink, but I mean… it’s just water. Right?” She grabs a half-drunken bottle from the nightstand by my bed and twists the cap off. “Here… nice and steady, okay?”

She holds the bottle to my mouth as if my own arms and hands don’t work. She tilts it up slowly and when I feel it touch my lips, I part them to make a slight hole big enough for me to suck some through. But it’s like… it’s like… like I forgot.

Once the water is in my mouth, it just sits there. I’m trying to do what I’ve been doing by reflex since I was born. I’m trying to use my tongue to push the bloody-tasting water to the back of my mouth so it can go down my throat. It’s simple, isn't it? You push your tongue to the roof of your mouth and the liquid goes down your throat. That’s how you swallow. So why can’t I…? Why can’t I swallow? Why did I forget how to swallow?

“Luce…? You okay?” Frannie slowly takes the water away from my mouth and looks at me like it’s the most scared she’s ever been.

I tilt my head back and look up at the ceiling because maybe I can get the water to just slither down my throat instead of spitting it out. I can’t believe I don’t know how to swallow anymore. Oh my god, I can’t swallow… am I still able to eat?! What if I can’t eat anymore! I can’t swallow! Oh my god, I can’t swallow!

“Just do it steady, okay?” Frannie puts her hand on my chin like she’s coaching me through swallowing and I feel a tear dribble down to my cheek. I can’t swallow. _ What kind of life am I going to have if I can’t swallow? _“Nice and steady…” She rubs my throat.

The water starts to trickle down my throat very slowly, but as soon as one lousy drop drips down into it, it is unbelievable. It’s pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt in my life and that’s saying something because I had an eight pound baby come out of my crotch with no drugs.

I sit my head upright and spit the water out onto my bed and WOW, my throat burns. It feels like putting rubbing alcohol on a brush burn, but times ten. It feels like dousing scalding hot water on open flesh. It hurts so bad that I can’t help but cry. I put my hand against my throat and start crying so hard that I can’t see anything through tears.

“Oh my god, Quinn,” Frannie uses her hand to wipe the bloody water from my chin and grabs the remote beside my bed that has the nurses’ button on it. “Are you okay?!” She uses her hands to force me to look in her eyes. “Look at me baby, are you hurt?! Are you hurt?!”

The nurse comes rushing into my room like seconds after Frannie pushes the call button and she goes immediately over to the machines that I’m hooked up to. She looks friendly, but she’s not talking. She has curly red hair and wrinkles. She’s wearing scrubs with the characters from Frozen on them and she kind of looks like she’s a grandma. I think I might like her.

“I tried to give her water to drink and she spit it out and started crying. Do something.” Frannie is nearly hysterical but I don’t think she needs to be. It just hurt me a little, that’s all. I’m not dying again. “Is she not able to drink? I just gave her some water, I thought she might be dehydrated, I didn’t —“

“Right now we’re still giving her fluids through the IV and she’s tolerating food through the feeding tube, so there’s no need for her to use her throat for anything. She’s not dehydrated, sweetie. She’s doing alright.” The nurse hooks something into one of my IVs and I hope it’s not morphine. “Now Quinn… honey, it’s gonna be a while before you’re able to swallow. Okay? We have to get the speech pathologist in here to work with you, we have to let her reteach you a few things. It’s gonna be a while before it stops hurting.”

“Okay,” I say and my voice sounds like I swallowed a frog. “Can I still eat? Am I gonna have a f-feeding tube forever?”

“No, sweetie. No. It’s just temporary. We’re gonna try you on some pudding and soup broth sometime tomorrow and see how you do with that. The tube's just temporary.” She explains as she rubs a thermometer across my forehead. “Your temperature’s looking great, and I just gave you a little bit of codeine to help with the pain. Okay? It should be setting in soon. If you need anything else, just tap that button. I’ll be right in, honey.”

“Thank you.” I choke out.

Frannie sighs and sits down at the foot of my bed. I really wish she wouldn’t touch me, but I get that she’s scared and probably thought that I was going to die or something, so I just let it go whenever she grabs ahold of my hand. We sit together, hand in hand, in complete silence for a few moments and it’s a little bit awkward but neither one of us knows what to say.

“...You scared the shit out of me, you know that, don't you?” Frannie mumbles. “I thought I was gonna walk into this hospital and be talking to the coroner and identifying your body.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck were you thinking, Lucy?”

“Quinn.”

“No, not Quinn, Lucy. You’re Lucy to me right now. Quinn wouldn’t have done some fucked up shit like that, that’s a Lucy move.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and I have to bite my lip so I don’t cry. “You gave me a heart attack, Q! You don’t know how it felt to see you lying there like that! You were dead, Quinn! DEAD! And the last thing I thought was that my baby sister —“

“I’m sorry!” I use my fingers to swipe away the tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened, I…” I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”

“...I thought that was over.” She grabs me by my arm and pulls me closer to her, forcing me to lie on her shoulder. “I thought that summer, when Mom sent that guy to the house and threw out all the scales… I thought you kicked this, Q. I thought you beat it.”

“I can’t,” I say without much thought and that kind of scares me because if I can say that without thinking then it must be true. Maybe I really can’t stop… “It’s… it’s inside me, Fran. I think I got a handle on it and sometimes I really do. But then something happens and I’m right back where I started and I… I can’t stop. I’m weak.”

“Look at me,” she strokes my cheek with her thumb and ignores my tears. “You’re going to beat this. You are a Fabray, you are strong and you did not survive sixteen years in that house with mom and dad just to call yourself weak. Okay? You are strong. You are strong and you’re going to beat this. This is something you’ll look back on and tell Beth about. I know it’s hard, I know it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But this isn’t going to kill you. I won’t let it. You’re done with it, Quinn. You’re done. I… I know dad made it hard for you. Everything you ate, he… he just never left you alone, I know that. But you are not destroying yourself and your body anymore. You. Are. Done.”

“I wanna be done so bad, Frannie…” I start crying all over again and she makes me put my head on her chest. She rubs my hair and it makes me cry even harder. _ I really do want to be done… I don’t want to do this anymore. I know I said I can stop whenever I want but I can’t. I can’t stop. I can’t give up the control. I can’t control anything. I can’t control how Russel and Judy feel about me. I can’t control whether Beth wakes up and wears a purple outfit or a blue one. I can’t control where I stay at night and where I sleep. I can’t control how I react to Puck or how deep I fall in love with Rachel. I can’t control Rachel loving me back, I can’t control my life. But I can control that. I know that if I throw up, I’ll step on the scale and be one pound lighter and in a world where I can’t control anything… I just want to control that. I want to control something._

_ I want to be done with this. I want my mind to be normal. I want to stop thinking about how much weight I’m gaining when I eat something small, like an apple. I want to stop being so hyper aware of the food that’s in my stomach. I want to stop feeling like every time I do something good, I deserve five cupcakes. I want to stop feeling like when I do something bad, I deserve to starve. I want to be done with this so bad… I don’t want this to control my life anymore… someone please help me… because this is the one thing I can’t kick…_

“Do mom and dad know?” I snivel and wipe my tears again as I pick my head up off Frannie’s chest. “Do they know I’m here?”

“I told them. Don’t worry about it, I told them.” She uses the base of her white t-shirt to wipe my face and even the snot that dribbled out of my nose. “...I really like the Joneses, you know. Especially Mrs. Jones.”

“You do?” I pull away from her wiping me off just so I can see her face. I want to know if she’s being truthful or not.

“Uh-huh,” she nods with an easy smile and puts her shirt back down. “They’ve been fighting with social workers all night. I guess child services is trying to say that you’re being neglected, but. They don’t know about the power of Mama Patrice.”

Hearing Frannie say that makes me laugh because I can only imagine the kind of hell Mom is putting them through. I’m willing to bet that she can take down every social worker in the entire state of Ohio all on her own. I really hope they don’t try to take me away from her… I really hope they don’t actually think I’m being neglected. Well, I’m sure they’ll talk to me and when they do, I’ll set the record straight. I’ll let them know that the only people who have neglected me and contributed to my current condition are Russel and Judy Fabray.

“You know something else?” Frannie looks down at the bed as if she’s about to say something really important. “...I really like Rachel, too.”

“You met her?!”

“I did,” she nods. “We went down to the cafeteria and I bought her a coffee. We sat and had a really long talk.” She takes a breath and then looks at me. “I don’t know what happened between you two. I don’t know what happened and I don’t know if it can be fixed or not. But I know that you should try. You should try to fix it. Because that girl loves you, it’s clear to me. She hasn’t moved an inch since yesterday and she’s been here through it all. She loves you a lot, Quinn. So you should at least try. Try to forgive her for whatever happened.”

_ She hasn’t left since yesterday. She’s been outside with my family since I got here. She’s probably tired and hungry and worried about missing Glee club. But she’s here. With me._

I look up and over towards the door to see if I can see her. And sure enough, I can. She’s still wearing the loose-fitting Wicked t-shirt and her fuzzy pajama pants. Her bunny slippers are still hanging on, too. She looks exhausted and like she needs a serious nap, but to me… I still think she’s beautiful. The way her ponytail is low and extremely loose, and her hair is in need of being brushed. The way she stands outside the door with her arms across her chest, trying to act like she’s not totally waiting for me to allow her in. God, I missed her. I can’t turn off loving her just like that…

“Where are the Joneses?” I ask.

“They’re down in a conference room answering questions from child services. The one doctor’s being a bitch about giving them information since they’re not your legal guardians.”

“So they’ll be gone a while?”

“Eh, I’d say about an hour.”

I look back at the door and watch as Rachel pretends to be very interested in the yellow paintings on the walls.

“You can send her in,” I mumble to Frannie.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Frannie rubs my hair one last time then heads for the door. 

I watch through the glass window as she and Rachel exchange some words. Rachel takes a really deep breath, nods at Frannie, then approaches the door to my room. There’s a part of me that wants to hide under my covers and not face her, because I know she’s one more person I have to apologize to for all the scary events of last night. I have to apologize to her when she should be the one apologizing to me.

I don’t think I’m ready to face Rachel yet. I’m glad she’s here and I’m glad she came to see me and I saw her before I passed out yesterday, but Rachel is a level of drama that I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with. I just don’t want to deal with this right now… but I know I can’t keep avoiding it.

“Good morning,” she lingers by the door and says that with a very nervous smile. She won’t make eye contact with me. She just keeps looking at the ground and I wish I could be mad at her for it but the truth is that I can’t make eye contact with her either. “I was starting to think you’d never wake up.”

“How long was I out?” I just look at the ten tons of blankets the nurses have on my bed and try to distract myself from how I’m feeling. I’m feeling like I want to look at her…

“Thirteen hours. Fourteen, maybe.” She takes a step closer to my bed but still keeps a respectable distance. “...Will you please look at me, Quinn?”

“You won’t look at me.”

“Because you won’t look at me.” She says and I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s crying. I can hear it in her voice. “...I thought I lost you last night. I started going through my mind and thinking about all the ways I wouldn’t be able to —“

“Rachel, you —“

“No, okay? I’ll talk, you listen.” She doesn’t wipe her tears. She just approaches my bed and takes it upon herself to sit down on it. “I thought I lost you last night. Mercedes called me and she was hysterical and she told me you were being —“ Her voice cracks and she has to take a breath to steady herself. “L-life flighted to Dayton and that it was bad and I… I just really thought I lost you.” I notice how she’s clutching the necklace with my initial on it. _ Why hasn’t she taken that off? _“I started thinking about how much I wouldn’t be okay if I lost you. I thought about how much my life would suck if you weren’t in it anymore and how I would forever be heartbroken because the LOVE of my LIFE died a few days before my seventeenth birthday.” She shakes her head and sniffs. “I wrote you a song. And I’m just waiting for you to get better so I can sing it to you.”

“You—“

“Please forgive me, Quinn. Please. Can we just leave this hospital and start all over and forget _ everything _that happened because I know better now. I know better and I promise to love you better. I promise, I promise I —“

“What happened to your face?” I ask to interrupt her because she’s going off on a tangent and she needs to be calmed down. What better way to change the subject and calm her down than to ask her about the big, clementine-sized purple bruise that starts at her jaw and extends all the way up to her cheekbone?

I don’t know what comes over me, but for some reason, I have to reach out and touch it. I stroke my fingers across it because it looks like it hurts. Rachel shrugs away from me when I touch it, though.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not important. What’s important is that you can forgive me. What’s important is that you know that I love you and I want you for the rest of my life and I don’t care how young we are. I don’t care. I just need you to forgive me. Please. Please. Do you think you can forgive me?”

I bite my lip and look down at my blankets again. _ I don’t know if I’m ready to do that yet. I think I need to get to the root of why she kissed Finn before I’m ready to do that and I think I need to be able to trust that it won’t happen again. Right now, I just really need to step back and take a break and think about all the reasons that I got here. I’m… I’m not in the position to date Rachel right now. I’m not in the position to forgive her. I need to work on myself. I need to get out of this hospital. I need to really think about what our relationship is going to mean to me now that she kissed Finn._

“Please answer me, Quinn. Say something.” She begs but I still say nothing because I don’t know what I could say that won’t completely shatter her right now. “Please… anything. Shelby… Shelby’s outside, okay? She’s outside and she wants to see you and —“

“Beth’s here?” I sit upright and crane my neck to see out in the hallway. “Where?”

“No, Beth’s home. She’s with Shelby’s friend, she’s um… she’s not here but Shelby is and Shelby wants to see you and I’ll send her in, but please give me an answer. Just please tell me you can forgive me.”

“...I love you, Rachel.” I bite the inside of my cheek so I can choose my words carefully. “And I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you. At least not fully. But I can’t forgive you. Not yet.”

She closes her eyes and her face crumbles for a moment, but she is holding strong and steady. She nods her head at me even though she’s desperately holding back tears.

“I’m… I’m gonna go get Shelby.” She croaks and nearly sprints to the door.

And that’s the last I see of her.

* * *

“You think maybe I could get a real milkshake, Char?” I ask her as I wrinkle my nose in disgust at the liquid she expects me to drink. 

This is my third time swallowing this nasty shit and it never gets any easier. It still makes me want to gag when it goes down my throat. It’s like I’m swallowing smashed up chalk mixed with milk. It has the consistency of a milkshake but it tastes nothing of the sort.

“A strawberry one. With lots of whipped cream and a cherry on top.” I slosh the barium around in the cup then hold it to my lips. I start choking it down slowly like the speech pathologist taught me. It’s been super weird learning how to swallow again but I picked up on it pretty quickly and Char says it’s just muscle memory.

“You hold still, kid.” Char drapes the heavy lead vest over my chest and ruffles my hair. “If I like what I see on these x-rays, I’ll get ya all the milkshakes you want.”

“Ooh, and pizza?” I hold the rest of my body still with the exception of my mouth as Char steps into the other room to push the button on the x-ray machine. “I could go for pizza. With all the gooey cheese and greasy pepperoni… god, yes.”

“It’s gonna be a while before you’re ready to eat some pizza, little bit.” She comes back into the room and hands me the thinner drink. I know the drill. Drink the thick one then the thin one. It all tastes terrible. “Unless you puree it.”

“Oh god, gross. That’s gross, Char.” I hold the thinner mixture of barium to my lips and take several slow sips.

I feel a whole lot better. My throat still hurts, obviously. But my voice is back and talking doesn’t hurt as bad as it used to. It still burns when I swallow, but they have me off the pain medicine completely and the pain is bearable. It feels more like I just have a really sore throat now than anything. And they let me eat soup and pudding, mostly. They say it’s going to be a while before I’m able to eat anything other than soup and pudding, but they took the feeding tube out and I’m doing okay without it.

If my swallow test comes back okay, they’re going to let me out of the hospital today and I’m super excited because I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed and I miss Whitney and Bobby. Plus, I’d kill for a really good shower that doesn’t have hospital soap that smells like surgery. Obviously they’re going to send me home with a bunch of antibiotics and I’m on a new heart medication, but I get to go home. After six long days of being in the hospital and working my ass off to learn how to swallow again, I get to go home. At last.

“Alright, little bit. We’re all set. I think I got enough good ones.” Char takes the vest off of me and hangs it back up before she takes the brakes off my wheelchair and starts wheeling me out of the room.

“Why do you call me ‘little bit’?” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand because I still feel that nasty barium on my lips. “What does that mean?”

“Well you’re little,” she wheels me up the hallway and I can hear the grin in her voice. “And I like you. I’m gonna miss you when we finally let you up outta here.”

“Are you from down south?”

“Born and raised, chicky. Feet up.” She wheels me onto the elevator and I put my feet up when she crosses the threshold. “...What flavor you want?”

“Got any purple ones?”

She sighs hard like I’m a big inconvenience to her or something, but she reaches into her pocket and hands me a purple lollipop that I rip the plastic off of in an instant. Lollipops are my thing now. I’m not supposed to have them because the doctor says that they can cut my throat if I bite off pieces of them, but I don’t bite off pieces. I just suck it until we reach the garbage can on my floor and Char makes me throw it away. She’s the best x-ray technician ever, by the way. She’s done all three of my swallow tests, plus my two chest x-rays and she’s one of the only doctors on my team that I look forward to seeing.

“So what’s up with you and that girl? You get anywhere with that yet?” She wheels me down the hallway once we get off the elevators and makes the turn to get to my room.

“I’m still working on it,” I sigh. She knows everything about me and Rachel. It’s weird, I know. But when you’re laying on an x-ray table and letting some girl look at your chest while she puts a lead vest over you, you start to talk. And you bond. And Char ends up telling you that she would “take you home if she could.” I take my lollipop out of my mouth as we approach the trashcan. “I don’t know how I’m gonna forgive her. It’s like I want to be her friend but I’m not ready to be her girlfriend. Does that make sense?”

“You can’t be friends with someone you love, little bit. It just don’t work that way.” She flips her short blonde hair over her shoulder and helps me back into my bed. “You know I’m rooting for ya, though. I think you ought to give the girl another chance. She ain’t moved since you got here. It’s been six whole days and nothing. She’s still here. That gotta count for something.”

“...Maybe you’re right.” I pull my blankets back over my legs and grab my phone from my nightstand.

“I’m always right,” she winks her blue eyes at me. “I’m gonna go get your pictures down to the radiologist. I’ll come back and see you ‘round dinner time if they ain’t let you out of here yet.”

“See you, Char.”

She leaves the room and as soon as she does, I finally tune into what Mom, Dad and my head doctor are talking about at the other end of the hallway. Frannie had to fly home yesterday. She has a really big test in one of her classes and if she misses it, she’ll fail the whole semester so she had to go. She stayed until the doctors told her that I was officially out of the woods, though. Mom, Dad and Mercedes went home yesterday too. They made Mercedes go to school today because she couldn’t miss anymore, but they came right back after they changed their clothes. It’s funny, nobody left the hospital until they knew I was okay. Yesterday was the official confirmation because the tests on my heart came back fine. And it was like as soon as they heard that, they got in the car and went home to finally shower and change. But they were right back in three hours. Rachel hasn’t left, though. She’s still wearing the same clothes she’s been wearing and her hair is still a mess. Even though we haven’t been talking much… she’s still here.

Anyway, I can’t hear very well. I know I shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but I just really want to know what my doctor is telling Mom and Dad about me. So I get out of my bed and head for the door. I stand beside my door, completely undetected… and it’s perfect for eavesdropping.

“If the swallow test comes back okay today, I don’t see a reason why you can’t take her home first thing tomorrow. Her heart’s great, she’s swallowing nicely, the psychiatrist said she’s responding really well to the Prozac, she’s tolerating soft foods… I see no reason why she has to stay.” The doctor says.

“We can take her home tomorrow?” Mom sounds super excited. “I can have my girl back home by tomorrow?”

“If this swallow test comes back alright, sure. There’s nothing we’re doing here that you can’t do for her at home.”

“What about her therapies and stuff? Do we do that at home too?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, I’ll print up some discharge instructions when I’m ready to discharge her. I’m gonna send her home with a couple of the swallowing therapy exercises that the speech pathologist has been working with her on. I want to see her back here in two weeks to make sure her esophagus is healing and give her another stress test to make sure her heart is okay. The psychiatrist wants her to follow up with her regular psychiatrist and he’s going to increase her recommended therapy to three days a week instead of two. And I’m setting her up with a nutritionist not too far from your house in Lima.”

“Okay… okay, good. Good.” Mom still sounds excited. “What do you recommend we feed her? How long ‘til she can eat some regular food?”

“Just keep her on soft foods until I see her again in two weeks, then I’ll reevaluate. Just keep her on broths, soups, ice cream, oatmeal, pudding… maybe cookies if they’ll melt in her mouth. She can have baby food if she’s willing, I know some of the fruits taste really good and that’s a good way to make sure she’s getting her nutrients.”

“Looks like we gotta go buy her some baby food,” Dad chuckles. “You keep talking to her, honey. I’m gonna go tell Rachel she can head home now. Poor girl needs a bath in the worst way.”

When I hear him say that, that’s when I actually poke my head out into the hallway. I watch him as he goes over to Rachel and places very gentle hands on her shoulders. He says something to her that I can’t hear, and Rachel nods her head in understanding. Dad gives her a side-hug and rubs her on the back before he lets her go, and Rachel gathers her phone, her jacket and her bunny slippers. She turns to me too quickly for me to duck away, and our eyes meet. Our eyes meet. ...And she waves at me.

I don’t wave back. I just watch as she disappears up the hallway and even though I didn’t wave back, it doesn’t mean she didn’t make me feel something. Because she did. I felt something knowing that this is the first time she’s leaving since I got here. And that something makes me decide that I’m going to at least hear her reasons for why she kissed Finn. I’m going to at least TRY to forgive her.

I sigh and head back to my phone so I can text her and hopefully set up a time where we can talk once I get home, but I hear Mom’s voice before I even get the chance to unlock my phone. And Mom’s voice sounds angry…

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mom spits fire when she talks and I make my way back over to the door because who could she possibly be talking to like that? “Why the hell are you here?!”

I peek my head around the door again, careful that they don’t see me.

And I can’t believe who I see, actually…

“I came to see my daughter,” she replies in a way softer tone than Mom is talking to her in. She replies in a tone that suggests she’s totally innocent or misunderstood. “Is Quinnie okay?” She adjusts her mink coat and starts pulling off her designer gloves. “I got a message from the insurance company and I came as soon as I could. …Was it her little spitting up problem that did all this?”

“Spitting up problem?!” Mom’s entire demeanor changes. It’s like she’s possessed by a demon and I’m kind of scared of her when she’s like this… “YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU KNEW YOUR BABY HAD A LIFE THREATENING ILLNESS THIS WHOLE TIME AND YOU NEVER ONCE SAW TO IT THAT SHE GOT HELP?! IT TOOK YOU DAYS TO COME HERE. DAYS. FRANCESCA DONE CALLED YOU AND SO DID WE. I CALLED YOU BACK WHEN SHE WAS STILL AT ST. RITA’S. SHE WAS ON HER DEATHBED. SHE ABOUT DIED TWICE IN THE HELICOPTER ON HER WAY UP HERE AND GUESS WHO RODE WITH HER?! MY HUSBAND, THAT’S WHO. YOU AND YOUR SORRY ASS HUSBAND WERE NOWHERE TO BE FOUND. NOWHERE. NOW YOU WANNA SHOW UP AND ACT LIKE HER MAMA AFTER ALL THE SHIT’S BEEN SETTLED WITH CHILD SERVICES AND WHEN THE MONEY’S INVOLVED. YOU CAME CAUSE YOU GOT A CALL FROM THE INSURANCE?! HOW MUCH THEY CHARGING YOU AND RUSSEL, JUDY?! HOW MUCH THEY SAY THAT MADE YOU COME DOWN HERE FINALLY AND SEE WHAT’S GOING ON WITH MY GIRL?! HOW MUCH IS YOUR BABY’S LIFE WORTH TO YOU?!”

“Look, I don’t know what kind of fantasy about me you drummed up in your head, but I trusted you with my daughter. I trusted you to take care of her and now look.” She’s still talking in the calmest tone ever and it’s typical Judy Fabray. Typical. She doesn’t get upset or worked up about hardly anything serious. “Quinnie’s coming home with me. I got the hospital to release her to me. You have no legal rights to her and clearly she’s not thriving like you said she would be with you.”

Mom charges at my other mom like she’s ready to rip her head off but Dad grabs her by her arms and pulls her. Hard. He has to pull her hard to stop her from killing my mother and I don’t mean that to be facetious. I mean that seriously. The force that she charged at my mother with could have killed her. And I don’t think Mom would have cared that she did it.

“Tricey, you gotta calm down! She ain’t worth it!” Dad yells. “They gonna call security, calm down! She ain’t worth it!”

“SHE AIN’T GONNA COME IN HERE AND ACT LIKE SHE KNOWS WHAT’S BEST. SHE AIN’T GONNA COME IN HERE AND TAKE HER AWAY! SHE AIN’T SHOW UP FOR SIX FUCKIN DAYS AND NOW WHEN THE MONEY INVOLVED AND IT’S TIME TO PAY, SHE COMES?!”

“I’m doing what’s best for my daughter!”

“YOUR DAUGHTER?! BITCH, I—“

“If you knew what’s good for you, you’d leave this hospital. Right now.” Dad stands in front of Mom, backed into a corner, with his arms blocking her from getting out. “I’m being serious, Judy. You should go.”

“Quinn’s my daughter and I’m not going anywhere until I have her. She’s coming home with me. I’ve let these shenanigans go on far too long, it’s time —“

“...Mom?” I finally leave from my room once I’m not scared anymore. I’m just in the middle of everything and I don’t want to be. I’m in the middle of this, in the middle of Rachel and Mercedes… I don’t want to be in the middle anymore.

Judy turns around and faces me and her face actually lights up when she sees me. …It’s sick, but I feel my face light up too. _ Mommy… I missed you. You’re happy to see me, I can tell. You love me, don’t you? You really do love me. You never stopped. Mommy…_

“Quinnie!” She runs over to me and scoops me up in her arms like I’m a baby again and I can’t explain how good it feels to hear her call me “Quinnie” again. And she still smells good. She still smells just like my mommy always smells and she’s still soft and I forgot how good her arms felt and I just missed her so much. I thought she didn’t love me… I thought she stopped loving me… “Oh, sweetie! I came as soon as I found out where you were!” _ I thought Frannie called you days ago… nevermind that, it doesn’t matter. You’re here now. _“I love you so much sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay now. You’re gonna come home and me and daddy are gonna take care of you. We got you. I love you so much, sweetie. So much.”

“I love you too,” I wipe my tears and try to stop crying when she kisses my cheek but I can’t. I can’t stop crying. _ It’s my mommy… she’s here… I haven’t seen her in so long… I thought she didn’t love me anymore…_

“Can I talk to a parent for… Lucy?” Some new girl that I’ve never seen before comes into the hallway holding a clipboard and some envelopes.

I notice that Mom, calmed down but still breathing heavy, takes a step forward. But so does Judy and I’m just really confused because it seems like Mom should be the one doing the talking. But Judy's my mom too…

“That would be me!” Judy raises her hand and rushes over to the girl before Mom or Dad can even make it over to her. _ This isn’t right… is it? _ I follow her over to the lady so I can hear what they’re talking about… but I also feel like maybe I should go hug Mom….

“So I’m Ruby, and I handle the billing. We’re looking at a discharge date for Lucy tomorrow, December the 17th. And that brings the total cost of all her services here at Dayton Children’s Hospital to $32,124.09. Blue of Lima insurance company is prepared to cover $24,561.89, which leaves a total balance of $7,562.20 to be paid in full.”

“What if we discharge her today? What if I sign her out today? How much does that shave the cost down?” Judy asks.

“Well, Dr. Shivanek is recommending her to stay tonight for observation before discharging her tomorrow, just to make sure everything is still stable. It’ll be against the Dr.’s wishes to discharge her today.”

“But she’s fine, isn’t she? And discharging her today would shave something off the bill, yes?”

“Uh…” Ruby stutters for a moment, clearly taken aback by the request. She punches some numbers into a calculator and clears her throat. “Discharging today would bring the total cost down to $7,312.03”

“Okay, so let’s do that. Let’s discharge her today.” Judy nods. _ It’s only a few hundred dollars less… wouldn't it be best to keep me here if the doctor says that’s what I need? If it’s only a few hundred dollars less?_

“Um… okay, I’ll just have to um… have you sign some papers that I can run down and print, no big deal.” Ruby flips the page, flustered. “Dr. Lanay, the psychiatrist, is also recommending Lucy get more intensive therapy. It’s recommended, but not required, but he can send a referral to a really great treatment facility that we use here and the hospital and —“

“Those cost a ton. I had her sent to one last summer and all they did was take the money and hand her back with the same problems.” Judy shakes her head. _ Mom, seriously…? _“She has a great therapist and a great psychiatrist back home. No need for anything extra.”

“Okay, ma’am. And the last thing I need to discuss is the ongoing treatment that Lucy will have to receive from us. There was a report made with the children’s division and we need to have follow ups with you and your husband just to ensure that Lucy is being taken care of.”

“Just make it go away. She’s not being neglected, she’s not being abused, she’s —“

“So you just want to send her home today even though the doctor is saying not to… because it’ll save you two hundred bucks. And you don’t want to do anything more intensive that might actually HELP her, because it costs too much money…?” Mom takes a few light steps over to us, but I can tell she’s anything but calm… “And now you’re telling her to make child services go away… when you and your husband CLEARLY failed this baby…?”

“This doesn’t concern you —“ Judy puts her hand up at Mom, which really sets Mom off.

“YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT CONCERNS ME! YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT HER! YOU JUST SHOWED UP SO YOU CAN HANDLE HOW MUCH MONEY IS BEING SPENT. THAT’S THE ONLY REASON YOU’RE HERE AFTER SIX DAYS. YOU GOT THE CALL THAT SHE WASN’T GONNA DIE AND THOUGHT ‘oh shit, now I have to pay for her.’ I KNOW YOUR ACT! YOU DON’T WANNA PAY NO MORE TO KEEP HER HERE.”

_ Is that true…? It sure feels true…_

I back away from Judy because it really feels true… I thought she came because she loved me but all it’s been about is money… she doesn’t love me… she’s not my mom anymore. She doesn’t love me… and I need a minute…

I walk down the hallway to go get some air. And as I’m leaving… all I hear is Mom — my TRUE MOTHER — yelling at Judy.

“I’m taking her off of you! I promise you Judy, she’s gonna be mine! I’m getting her off of you, I don’t care who I have to fight! We’re gonna adopt her. She’s gonna belong to me. I promise you that.” She sounds calmer now… 

“I promise you that.” She says one last time.


	69. Ruin My Life

It was yesterday in the car when I realized my way of thinking has totally changed.

When I used to think of home, I thought about how it felt to hang my jacket up in the coat closet, then head upstairs to my room to put my shoes away neatly inside the caddy that hung behind my door. Home used to mean going downstairs and picking the least fanciest cup from the china cabinet and pushing a button on the expensive fridge just to get a sip of water. It used to mean sitting at the kitchen island doing my homework in the walls of an empty house, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t lonely and I didn’t wish mom and dad took me with them when they spent evenings dining at the country club. Home meant untying the canopy over my bed and turning off the string of expensive LED lights that hung around my headboard in preparation for bed. It meant taking care of myself and feeling way older than I actually am.

We were in the car on the way home from Dayton when Mercedes tapped me on the arm to wake me up. I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep until she tapped me and I picked my head up only to realize I had been laying on her shoulder the entire time. I don’t know why, but her words rang in my head. I looked down at the hospital bracelet that they forgot to cut off for me and remembered exactly where I had spent the last week, and exactly why I had been there. And Mercedes’ words bounced in my head like a soccer ball banging off all the walls of my mind.

_ Quinn, wake up,  _ she said.  _ We’re almost home. _

_ Home _ .

When I thought of home at that moment, I thought about the hearty scent of chili simmering on the stovetop — the kind of smell that makes you feel warm from your head to your toes — and the sound of eight little paws running on the hardwood floors. Now home means being licked all over my face and yanking a chew toy back and forth. It means sitting on the couch until the sun isn’t shining anymore, begging mom and dad to play just one more episode of Shameless before casting me and Mercedes off to bed. Home means hearing mom’s singing voice filling the kitchen and dad’s eyes crinkling are the corners when he laughs and calls me “quinntessential.” Mercedes said that we were almost home in the car yesterday, and I felt like a kid approaching the gates of Disney World.

That warm, meaningful feeling I had yesterday when I thought about home hasn’t gone away. In fact, it’s still there even as I open my eyes and take the moment to adjust and remember that I’m not in the hospital anymore.

My cheek is smashed into the couch pillow just like it was before I drifted off to sleep, and the TV is still playing the reruns of Law & Order. Whitney is still curled up and laying on top of my feet, and Bobby is still beside my head. There aren’t anymore wide windows without shades that let the light blind me, there aren’t anymore cold tile floors, and there aren’t anymore railings on the sides of me to lock me inside the bed. I am home. I am in the living room. I fell asleep here. I am not dreaming. It still feels surreal.

Part of me felt like I was never getting out of the hospital. Every time a new doctor came in to check on me and put probes on my chest to look at my heart or make me swallow some godforsaken liquid, they would tell me that I was making process but I still couldn’t go home and the whole thing made me wonder if I would ever be free. Then my mom showed up — my real mom — and she said that the hospital said I had to go home with her and I thought… I mean, I REALLY thought… that I was going to have to go back to her.

“When you want me to wake her up?” I hear dad’s voice in the kitchen and it’s the extra nudge I need to transition completely from sleep to consciousness.

My throat still feels like I swallowed acid and I can taste blood again, but the doctor said that I’ll probably have a yucky taste in my mouth for at least another week. I feel like I need to yawn really bad, but if I yawn then I’m going to put myself in terrible pain and I’d rather not do that, so I resist the urge to yawn. I’m also really thirsty and the bottle of water mom brought me to drink earlier looks mighty tasty as it sits on the coffee table but again, it hurts so bad to swallow that I’d rather just not.

I lied. I know that makes me pretty terrible and I know it’s probably going to bite me in the ass in the long run, but I did. I lied. The doctors ran a bunch of tests on me and asked me about the pain in my throat and the pain in my chest and I kept lying and telling them that I felt fine and that the pain was bearable but the truth is that I am miserable. I am so miserable that I’d rather sleep my life away so I don’t have to deal with how badly it hurts. I just wanted to go home. I was tired of being in the hospital and watching everyone cry over the stupid thing that I did. I was tired of listening to mom argue and fight with doctors and social workers and tired of listening to Mercedes get upset over the things she should have known about me and tired of Rachel looking at me through the glass in the same clothes she wore for a week and I was just tired. I was tired of being sick and tired of being in the hospital and tired of knowing that I caused all these problems just by being reckless and stupid. I never meant for all of this to happen. I never meant to get everyone involved in custody battles and child services investigations. I just wanted it all to go away and I wanted to go home. I should’ve stayed in the hospital longer, but I wanted to go home. Now I’m in miserable pain and somehow… somehow I can’t help but wonder if I deserve this.

“She fell asleep  _ again? _ ” I hear mom’s voice in the kitchen next and I’m half tempted to tell them that I’m awake but I really can’t talk. I really can’t.

“Yeah. Her body’s probably just tired, you know. It’s been through a lot. But it’s about time for her medicine, isn’t it? You want me to go wake her?” Dad asks.

I blink a few times until my vision comes into focus and I can see into the kitchen from where I’m laying on the couch. Mom, of course, is stirring something on the stove with her favorite wooden spoon and I sniff really hard, I can smell something that sort of smells like chicken. Mostly, I can just smell blood but again, the doctor said that’s normal since your nose and throat are all connected, but if I sniff really hard I can kind of smell chicken. Mom stirs and dad scrapes his finger along the rim of the pot for a taste.

“Nah, you can leave her sleep.” Mom shakes a little bit of salt and pepper into the pot and puts the lid on top. “I ain’t wanna give her that antibiotic on a empty stomach, so you can wake her when the food done and she can eat.”

“Is it about time for her to get more pain medicine too?” Dad tucks one of mom’s tight, black curls away from her face and lets his hand linger by her cheek. “It’s going on 1:00. It should be time.”

“‘Bout 1:30 I’mma give her more.” Mom sighs and even I can tell that something more is bothering her. At least, it seems like something more is bothering her. I'm not all that surprised when dad picks up on it.

“You know it’s gonna be okay, right ‘Trice?” Dad puts his hands on her shoulders. “Whatever happens, it’s gonna be okay. Even if they step in and say she’s gotta go back, there are other ways around it. We can appeal it to the judge, we can get her emancipated, we can —“

“I know all that, Jared. I was there when the caseworker was telling us.” Mom kind of snaps at him and shrugs his hands away. She walks away from him and goes over to the back door and for a second, it looks like she’s going to go stand outside even though it’s snowing. She doesn’t, though. She just stands beside the door and looks out of it like she needs a moment to breathe.

“Patrice…?” Dad keeps his distance and says her name so softly that I almost don’t hear it.

“She called her ‘Mom’...” She lies her head against the doorjamb and sighs so hard that I see her shoulders gyrate up and then down. “When she came up outta her room, that was the first thing she said. She looked at her and said ‘Mom.’ I know I shouldn’t be thinking ‘bout that. I know I should just be thankin’ the lucky stars that she alright and I got her home with me, but. She called her ‘Mom.’ And I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout that.”

“Honey…” Dad walks over to her slowly and wraps his arms around her waist. “I don’t think… I don’t think she meant anything personal by it.”  _ I really didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Mom… I’m so sorry…  _ “It was the first time she saw her mama in a while and —“

“But ain’t I her mama?” Mom turns to face him and she’s holding onto her necklace and tears are rolling down her cheeks and I want to get up and give her a hug and tell her that I’m sorry but I don’t think I should interrupt… “Wouldn't it be all the same for you if Russel came up in that hospital and she ran to him callin’ him ‘daddy’?” 

“It would suck, yeah,” dad shrugs. “But I would try to let it go because Quinn’s a little girl and she’s confused. She knows who her parents are. She knows who’s been there for her and who hasn’t. It doesn’t matter what she calls them or what she calls us, she knows in her heart who her real parents are. I know it hurt to hear her say that… and to see her run to Judy just for Judy to let her down again. I know. But that’s her mother. And she ain’t seen her in a while. She missed her mother. I can understand that. Can you?”

“Of course I understand it,” Mom sighs and opens up the fridge. She grabs a can of biscuits from the shelf and grabs a spoon to open them. “I’m just sayin’ I wish it ain’t the case. I ain’t tryna rip Quinn away from her mother, you know that. I’d love nothing more than to see them two have a good relationship. But I ain’t gonna support that if Judy just keep hurting her.”

As she presses the spoon in the seam to pop open the can of biscuits, I slowly but surely pick myself up off the couch. Even though it’s going to hurt really bad to talk because I haven’t talked in a while, I feel like it’s important for me to go in the kitchen and put a stop to all of this. Mom needs to know that she is my mother and the only mother I’m interested in having at this point. She needs to know that no matter what, nothing will ever break the bond that we have. She needs to know that I love them both in a way different than I love my biological parents.

“And now we gotta go to court and listen to that woman act like she know what’s best for Quinn, act like she cares and ain’t abandoned her daughter for the past two months. Now we gotta go to court and listen to a judge tell us that she gotta go home and be with someone who don’t give a damn about her. I gotta sit there while they send my baby back to the slaughter house. It ain’t right.” Mom throws the spoon in the sink and the sudden noise makes me jump.

“‘Tricey,” Dad tries to calm her down by putting his hand in the middle of her back.

“It ain’t right!” She shakes her head and I can tell she’s about to start crying again. “You heard what that social worker said. This is temporary. She gave us temporary custody of her just so she can heal and rest in the same place she’s been. But when we go to court next week… they’re taking her off of us, Jared. They’re gonna take her. And it ain’t right.”

I watch from the hallway as dad forces mom to lie her head against his chest. Sobs rock her body and I have to squeeze my eyes tight to try and avoid tears from coming out because if I start crying then my chest is going to hurt and I don’t want to go back to the hospital. The doctor said I need to take it easy and not do anything that’s going to cause stress on my heart and I think crying would be stressful… wouldn’t it? But how do I keep myself from crying when I can clearly see how much this hurts her?

It hurts me too. Because I heard what the social worker said, too. And I wish I could say that I have faith in the system to do what’s right for me and keep me here, with my true mom and dad, in a home where I am safe and loved. I wish I could say that I trust that the right thing will be done. But I can’t say that. I can’t. Because nothing good ever works out for me and the social worker laid it all out for us. The only way I can stay here with them permanently is if my mom chooses not to fight and chooses to give up custody of me and I know that will never happen. I can get emancipated but that’s a long process and I’ll probably be eighteen by the time it’s finalized, and if I run away then I could get put in juvie and I just… I don’t know. Nothing good ever works out for me and the social worker told us how it’s going to happen…

The social worker, I think her name was Courtney, filed to give emergency temporary custody of me to the Joneses, which the judge didn’t sign off on at first. The judge told us that I had to go home with my biological parents. But Courtney made a case and told him that I had been living permanently with the Joneses for two months and that moving me while I’m still sick would be detrimental to my recovery. So the judge signed off and gave me to the Joneses, temporarily. There’s a court hearing scheduled for next Friday where they’ll reevaluate my condition and if I’m healthy enough, I have to return home to my mom and dad. 

I knew that I couldn’t stay with them permanently. I knew that this was going to come to an end eventually. I just wish that it would have came around a time where I’m strong enough.

I’m not strong enough to survive in the Fabray house yet. I can’t go back there. I still need Mr. and Mrs. Jones. I still need to be here...

“Why did this have to happen, Jare?” Mom cries into dad’s chest. “How didn’t I know it was something bigger?”

“Shh,” Dad rubs her back. “Shh. You can’t go blaming yourself.”

“I shoulda known though,” she cries.  _ No, mom… don’t blame yourself…  _ “She losin’ weight left and right… she go to the bathroom right after we eat, she take the whole package of Chips Ahoy up to her room, she got them little red callouses on her knuckles… how ain’t I know? How I miss the signs? I thought it was the damn stomach flu, I must really be an idiot…”

“N-No,” I shake my head as I walk into the kitchen slowly. 

_ I’m not going to let her blame herself for this. This is all my fault. And maybe… honestly… maybe it’s Judy and Russel’s fault too. I know I have the power myself to stop this and it’s on me to have the willpower and control to just not throw up. But maybe if Judy or Russel would have gotten me help when this first started… maybe it wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Maybe if they didn’t sweep it under the rug and push it aside like every negative thing in the Fabray household… maybe if she would have DONE something instead of throwing away the scales in the house and taking me to see a therapist TWICE… _

Mom pulls away from dad’s chest quickly and starts wiping her tears when she sees me.

“Quinn,” she sniffs and wipes her face completely clean. “I didn’t hear you get up.” She walks over to me with outstretched arms. “Me and daddy were just having a conversation, mmkay?” She wipes my tears with her thumbs and smooths my hair back. “Are you hungry? I made chicken soup. Homemade. I want you to try and eat before you take your medicine.”

I want to tell her that it’s not her fault. I want to tell her that she can’t blame herself for a problem that existed long before she came into my life. I want to tell her that I know she wouldn’t have let it get this far. That if she was my mother from day one, she would have noticed the signs and got me the right kind of help and I wouldn’t be this sick. That this isn’t her fault. That I’m not angry with her for not helping me. That this is solely Russel and Judy Fabray’s problem and they’re who I’m angry at. I want to tell her all of this. But instead, all I can say is:

“I wanna stay here.”

* * *

I press my tongue up against the roof of my mouth to check and see if the Oreo is soft and soggy enough for me to swallow it yet. What has usually taken me about five minutes to eat has taken me about an hour now. I used to be able to grab four Oreos from the package in the pantry and dust them off in five minutes flat, licking the chocolate crumbs off my fingers. I’ve been working on these four Oreos since this episode of Extreme Couponing started.

It’s simple, really. I break the Oreo in half so that it’ll fit comfortably in my mouth, then I put it on my tongue and wait for it to melt. Eventually, it gets so soft that it turns to mush whenever I press my tongue up to the roof of my mouth and when it’s mushy, that’s when I know it’s ready for me to swallow. See? Simple.

“What do you need thirteen bottles of barbecue sauce for?” Dad looks up from his crossword puzzle and watches the TV from over the rim of his reading glasses.

“I dunno, but she only paid three bucks,” I mumble, only offering him a half-explanation because I’m so into the show. I know it’s weird to find extreme couponing interesting, but I do. It’s one of my guilty pleasure shows.

I think Mom and Dad both know that these are my last few days with them. Mom went out to the grocery store a little while ago and bought all of the ingredients to make my favorite pepper soup tomorrow for dinner, and Dad has let me have total control over the TV since I woke up. They’re treating me differently and maybe it’s just because I almost died and I’m still very sick, but I mostly think that it’s because they know that next week, I won’t be here anymore.

I’m still going to come and visit, I’ve made up my mind about that. I know it’s going to be hard and every time I come here to visit them for a while, it’s going to be hard to get back in the car and drive back home, but I still want to see them. I still want them to be part of my life and part of Beth’s life, too. I know this is going to be a huge adjustment when I go back to Russel and Judy and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid of what’s going to happen, but I’m trying to be brave. I’m trying to keep up with everything I’ve learned during my time with the Joneses and I’m trying to rely on all of that to keep me sane when I go back home.

This might be one of the last times I’m able to sit on the couch next to dad and watch TV. It might be the last time I can scoot closer to him, put my head on his shoulder, and feel like I’m in the safest place in the entire world. This might be the last time I ever get to feel this way. So I scoot closer to him and put my head on his shoulder.

And I close my eyes even though I am really into my TV show…

_ “What’s going on?!” I can’t see him, but I feel him. I feel his hand nestled inside of mine and I hear his voice, breathy and panicked as he asks questions. _

_ “She’s coding, her heart is stopping. Push one of Adrenalin and get an O2 treatment started.” A doctor says, then I feel something sharp poking my chest. It kind of hurts, but I don’t really feel it at the same time. All I feel is scared and dad usually calms me down when I’m scared but he’s scared too… _

_ “She’s flatlining. She’s flatlining, I need that Adrenalin NOW! NOW, or we’re gonna lose her!” Another doctor says. “How far our are we?!” _

_ “We’re preparing for landing right now!” _

_ “She’s not gonna make it into the hospital, I need a crash cart. Charge the paddles.” _

_ “What’s going on?!” I hear dad say again and it kind of sounds like he’s crying. It sounds like he’s crying and I’m grateful to god that I can’t open my eyes right now because I don’t want to see my dad crying… “Quinn, stay with me. You hear me?! You stay with me, kid. Don’t you dare go anywhere. You stay with me!” _

_ I’m trying to stay with you, dad. I’m really trying... but I’m so tired… _

I feel myself falling asleep a little as I’m laying on dad’s shoulder, so I’m a mixture of annoyed and relieved when Whitney and Bobby both start barking and wake me up. I’m annoyed because I really did want to sleep even though that’s all I’ve been doing since I got home from the hospital, but I’m also relieved because that’s all I’ve been doing since I got home from the hospital. I feel like I’m wasting my last days with the Joneses by sleeping, but I can’t really help it because the pain medicine I’ve been taking makes me really sleepy. It’s a lose-lose situation.

Anyway, Whitney and Bobby are barking like crazy because someone’s coming through the door and being that both mom and dad are already inside and it’s going on 3:00, it’s safe to assume that Mercedes is the one coming through the door and she’s home from school.

As Mercedes takes her shoes and her jacket off at the door, my phone buzzes and it’s the first time that someone has actually texted me since I’ve been home.

I grab it and unlock it.

**New Text Message**

**Tuesday, December 17**

**2:56 p.m.**

**SANTANA: ** U up for visitors ? Mercedes said ur home today n doing better

**SANTANA: ** Its ok if ur not ok I can just drop it off I dont have to visit n stay

**2:57 p.m.**

**ME: ** drop what off?

**ME: ** you can come visit me i’m okay

**SANTANA: ** Just have stuffed animal n card for you

**SANTANA: ** Dont get sappy it was brits idea LOL

**ME: ** awww! well you can come visit me. i’ve just been sitting on the couch all day and bored. i’ll like the company.

**SANTANA: ** Ok be there around 5-530

**ME: ** hey santana???

**SANTANA: ** Yup

**ME: ** does glee club know anything?

**ME: ** i know mercedes probably told you the truth. & thats okay. i’m not really mad. but does glee club know?

**SANTANA: ** Mercedes told me nothing

**SANTANA: ** Rachel did

**ME: ** huh?

**SANTANA: ** She wanted me 2 check on u n make sure ur ok b/c she doesnt want 2 bother u when ur still mad. But she wanted 2 have a way to make sure ur ok so she made me swear not 2 tell anyone n she told me the truth about what happened 2 u

**ME: ** okay… that’s fair.

**ME: ** what does glee club know?

**SANTANA: ** every1 thinks u had stomach flu n threw up so much that it ruptured ur throat that’s all.

**ME: ** okay good.

**SANTANA: ** I promised Rach I wouldnt tell n I promise u I wont tell either I’m glad ur ok 

**ME: ** thank you santana… i appreciate it.

**ME: ** see you in a little while.

“Hey,” Mercedes sits next to me just as I type my last reply to Santana. “How are you feeling? You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” I yawn and since dad got up to go to the kitchen for some reason, I scoot over in his spot to make more room for Mercedes. “I’ve been sleeping literally all day. How was school?”

“Eh, it was boring,” she sighs and leans forward to rummage through her backpack. “I went around to your teachers and collected your homework. I knew you’d want to stay on top of it, so.”

“Thanks,” I mumble and try to return to watching TV, but it’s too awkward to watch TV.

It’s awkward because Mercedes and I have a lot to talk about now that I’m not high and loopy on a bunch of pain medicine and finally in my right state of mind. We have a lot to talk about that we’ve just been avoiding and pretending like it’s not there. I want to talk to her, I really do want to. But I don’t know what to say. I want to start by telling her thank you for being there for me that night I almost died, but I also want to start by telling her to back out of me and Rachel’s relationship. I want to ask her if we can all talk together. I think she and Rachel have issues that need to be worked out and I can help… god, I have all these things I need to talk to her about and I have no idea where to even start.

“...I thought you were going to die,” she breaks the silence and stares at the TV like she’s interested in it. I know she’s not, I know that she just doesn’t want to make eye contact with me. “When I opened that door and I saw you there, I… I thought that was the last I’d ever see you again. I thought you were dead.”

“I know.” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“You scared me half to death, you know.”

“I know.” I reach over in the empty space between us and grab onto her hand. “...You saved me, you know. You —“

“My dad’s one that did CPR, I just stood there and screamed.”

“No, Mercedes. It was you. You’re the one who saved me.”

“Quinn, I —“

“You brought me here. Last year when I was so broken and so lost and didn’t have any direction in the world, you were the one who brought me here. You gave me hope. You gave me a house to come to and a home to call my own. You gave me… people. Who care about me and who love me. You showed me what it’s all about. You showed me what it should be like. You saved me, Mercedes. That was all you.”

One single tear glistens on her cheek and she grabs me by my arm and pulls me gently so that I’m close enough for her to hug me. “...No matter what happens,” she talks through tears. “No matter what the judge says next week and no matter what anyone ever says. You’re my sister. Always.”

“Always.” I nod. “...And I forgive you, okay?”

“For what?” She sniffs.

“I know you’re beating yourself up for being so mean to Rachel,” I mumble. “I know you think you should be nicer and you’re upset with yourself for how you acted. I… I know you, okay? And I forgive you.”

“Quinn, I just don’t like it when —“

“I know. You’re just protective over me. I’m protective over you too. But you don’t have to protect me, okay? Not from Rachel. I can handle that. I… I don’t know what’s going on with us. I don’t know if I’m ever going to forgive her and I don’t know if we’re ever going to be together again. But I can’t work through any of it if you don’t stop hating her. So I need you to stop hating her, Mercedes. I really need you to stop. I can’t work through our problems and I can’t see any other point of view when you’re screaming at her and you’re —“

“I don’t hate Rachel,” she sighs and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “I know it seems like I do, but I don’t. I… I hate myself, okay?”

“You what?”

“Myself. It’s myself that I hate.” She wipes her tears by rubbing her cheek against her shoulder and clears her throat. “I hate myself because I didn’t notice that you were sick again. I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been and I… I didn’t know. And she did.”

“It’s not a competition between you. You and Rachel… you’re both two of the most important people in my life and I trust you both with everything in me. But you couldn’t have noticed that. I hid it, Cedes. I hid it so much. Because I didn’t want you to know.”

“I know, I just…” she sighs again, not knowing what to say. I don’t know what to say either. I don’t feel like we got anything truly resolved because I don’t think we can truly resolve anything until the three of us sit down and talk…

My phone buzzes again and I’m grateful for the distraction. When I unlock it this time and read my text message, my stomach sinks a little.

_ Speak of the devil… _

**New iMessage**

**Tuesday, December 17**

**3:10 p.m.**

**RACHEL: ** I’m outside…

**RACHEL: ** Can we talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I officially finished mapping this story out and it looks like it’s going to be 78 chapters. So chapter 78 is when we say goodbye, just to let you guys know.
> 
> I’m already planning on starting another Faberry story, and I was thinking about posting the first chapter of it before I get done with All The Best, just so you guys can start to get a feel for what it’s going to be about and the tone of it. I was wondering what you guys think. Should I post the first chapter of the new story before All The Best is done? Or should I just wait because it would be a little confusing? The stories are extremely different. The new story does have heavy topics in it, but it’s nowhere near as heavy as All The Best, and it’s a little less realistic. It’s more of a fantasy story, and it follows Rachel and Quinn equally. It’s not confined to one point of view.


	70. Definition of Love

Even though Whitney and Bobby are barking like crazy since Rachel rang the doorbell, I can still hear the door open as Dad swats them away. They know Rachel and the kind of like Rachel, but Dad hates it whenever they jump up on people, so he always makes them get away from the door when we have company over. For the most part, Whitney and Bobby listen.

I don’t know why I told Rachel that she can come inside and we can talk, but I did. I don’t think I’m ready to hear her out yet. I don’t think I’m ready to face the reality of what she did with Finn. When I think about it, I don’t get as angry as I used to get, which I think is good. That’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it? I don’t get angry anymore, I mostly just get sad and I mostly just start thinking about the reasons why she could have done it and I can’t come up with any. Maybe if we had been in a bad place before she kissed him I would understand. Maybe if we had just argued and fought like crazy, I would have been able to rationalize why she felt the need to kiss him, and I could try to move on. But we were perfectly fine before she kissed him, so really… I just don’t know.

“Hey, Rachel,” I hear Dad greet her from the hallway and I sit up. “What do you need, sweetie?”

“Is Quinn up?” She asks even though she knows I am. It’s good that Mom and Dad don’t seem to be holding a grudge against her. It’s good to know that even when I do forgive her eventually, she’ll still be welcomed by them. “I just wanted to see her… make sure she’s doing okay, you know.”

“Yeah, she’s in there on the couch. She’s not feeling real well, but she —“

“Who’s that at the door, Jare?” Mom calls out from the kitchen. She’s been really weird about who’s allowed to come and visit me. She’s been acting like my own personal security guard in a way, but I’m not all that worried. I think she’s still just really upset about what happened when my mom showed up at the hospital.

I see Mom shuffle into the hallway from the corner of my eye and I can’t help but wonder if she’s going to let Rachel through or if she’s going to tell her that she has to leave and let me rest like she told Tina a little bit ago.

“Oh,” Mom sounds like she has a smile in her voice. “Hey, Rachel. You here to see Quinn, baby?”  _ Baby. She called her “baby.” Mom really does still like Rachel. That’s really good to know. _

“Yeah, is she… I texted her and she said she’s okay, so I just… but if you want me to leave, I’ll go.” Rachel seems nervous and I wonder what she’s nervous about. I mean, it sure seems like they still like her, so there’s no need to be worried about it. Maybe it’s Mercedes she’s worried about.

“She up in the living room laying on the couch. You can go ‘head in and see her.” I hear the door close after Mom says that and that’s how I know Rachel’s officially been allowed inside.

Luckily, Mercedes went upstairs to change out of her school clothes, so she’s not here. Thank god she isn’t, because I can only put out one small fire at a time. I’m barely ready to hear Rachel’s excuse for kissing Finn. I can’t handle extinguishing their hatred for each other too.

“Um,” Rachel clears her throat. “I was actually wondering if… um,” she clears her throat again. “I was wondering if I could borrow Quinn. Just for a little while, like maybe half an hour? I know she just home and probably needs to rest, but I swear we’ll back in half an hour and I promise we’ll be sitting the entire time.”

“Ah, Rachel,” Mom sucks her teeth. “I dunno about all that. She really needs to stay up in this house and I don’t really want her to be out and about when it’s cold outside. Maybe some other time.”

_ Where is Rachel trying to go? She said we’ll be sitting the entire time, so it’s probably not anywhere far. But still. I don’t really want to go anywhere with her. I barely want to sit down and listen to what she has to say… good job telling her no, Mom. Thanks for that. _

“I think it might be good for her to go, ‘Trice.” Dad chimes in and I think this might end up being the first time I hear Mom and Dad argue… “She’s doing okay. She’s been in there on that couch all day. She’s okay, she can walk and stuff. Might do her some good to get out and go somewhere. Might make her feel normal again.”

_ Dad… what?! _

“She  _ just  _ got home. You ‘spect me to let her go up out the house the day she get home from the hospital?”

“It’s not like she’s fragile or anything. She can walk, she’s coherent. All I’m saying is that we can’t shelter her forever. Let the girl go out with Rachel. She said they’ll be resting the whole time and she’s been resting since she got home. Ain’t no reason she can’t go rest with Rachel.”

“Jared, I...” Mom sighs hard. “...Half an hour, Rachel. Mmkay? You have her back in half an hour.”

“I promise I will.” Now Rachel sounds like she has a smile in her voice too. “Half an hour and not a minute later. I promise.”

_ Great… I can’t take it back and tell her I don’t want to go anywhere with her because I already told her I was willing to talk and it would be a little messed up if I turned around and told her I don’t want to talk now that she drove all the way over here and stuff. So it looks like I’m stuck going somewhere with the big cheater. _

_ This is just great. _

* * *

“Two large Tropical Banana Smoothies?” The cashier says as soon as he opens the drive-thru window. “It’s going to be $9.49.” Rachel nods and hands him her credit card.

She’s been acting really weird ever since I got off the couch. I tried to go upstairs and put on regular pants since all I’ve been wearing is pajama pants all day, but she stopped me and told me I didn’t need to go put regular pants on. Then she kept opening the doors for me, which isn’t that unusual since we usually take turns when opening the door. But she’s just been really chipper and cheerful and it kind of makes me want to throw up, punch her or both. She’s acting like everything is fine between us, like she didn’t cheat on me and like I didn’t almost die. It feels like I walked into The Twilight Zone. I don’t like this feeling.

“Thank you,” Rachel smiles at the cashier when he hands her our two orange drinks and I feel something inside of me come completely undone. 

I forgot how much I missed seeing her smile and… well, I guess I just really wish that smile was directed at me again. I’m trying to still be mad at her and I’m trying to hold onto the fact that I walked in on her kissing Finn, but seeing her smile like that… I don’t think I can anymore. I don’t think I can erase the way I feel about her and I don’t think I’m strong enough to even try.

She taps her foot on the gas pedal and pulls into the nearest spot in the Baskin-Robbins parking lot, and it’s like my fist is finally unclenching, only I didn’t know I had it balled up into one in the first place. The tension in my shoulders is released, my tongue is pulled away from the roof of my mouth, and I’m breathing. I’m in the car right next to Rachel. This is real. I can reach over and touch her if I wanted to, I can smell the scent of her perfume surrounding me. I missed her. I missed having her around me, I missed knowing that she is here. Even during the times where we’d sit in her room and watch a movie saying absolutely nothing, and even the times when she’d lay on my lap and we’d both just be scrolling through our phones. I missed her presence.

“Is it okay?” She asks, nodding her head toward the untouched smoothie still in the cupholder. I haven’t touched it yet, and she’s making it known that she noticed. “I can, like, get you another one if you want a different flavor.”

I pluck the paper off the top of the straw and swirl it around before I bring it to my lips and take a sip. I know Rachel well enough to know that she didn’t plan on taking me out for smoothies. She came over and expected me to be upstairs in my room or something and when she realized that I was downstairs and we wouldn’t have any privacy unless I moved from the couch, she decided to ask Mom if I could come out on a whim. She didn’t plan this, but if I asked her, she’d say that she figured having a smoothie would make my throat feel better. While I know she didn’t think this through, I think maybe the second part is true. We could have gone anywhere in the world, just the two of us with a full gas tank. But she decided an ice cream parlor was the best way to go because she knows I have a very sore throat.

See, that’s the part of her that I can’t let go of. That’s the part of her I love. It’s easy to sit here and think about how angry and hurt and confused I was to see her with her lips wrapped around Finn’s lips, but then there’s the part of her who thinks about things like if my throat hurts and that’s what makes me love her, you know?

“Good.” I mumble to her, wincing at the way the smoothie burns as it runs down my throat. It doesn’t hurt as bad as it hurts when I suck on the Oreos and swallow those. The coldness actually does feel kind of good, but it burns. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay,” she half-smiles sadly, then uses her straw to stir her smoothie just to avoid making eye contact with me. She wanted to talk, but now that we’re together and it’s time to actually do it, she doesn’t have anything to say. Maybe she just doesn’t know where to start.

“You cold?” She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear and leans forward to turn the heat up a little. “I can put the heat up a little higher if you’re cold, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m fine.” I say and I know I probably sound like I’m being short with her but I don’t mean to. It just hurts to talk, so I’d rather not say anything that I don’t need to say. I take another sip and it burns a little less this time.

Even though I said I’m fine, she still reaches across my lap and opens the vent next to me to ensure I’m getting whatever the heat is kicking off. I’m sure she’s noticed that I haven’t made eye contact with her since we’ve been together, and I’m sure it’s bothering her. But I can’t look at her, I just can’t. If I look at her, then all I’m going to see is the look in her eyes that I saw when I started to lose consciousness in the hospital after she and Mercedes argued, and I don’t want to see that. Maybe it’s an even playing field now because she broke my heart and I scared the hell out of her, but I never wanted to do that to her. I can’t look in her eye and see the pain I’ve caused. I’m sure she probably thinks I won’t look at her because of what she did with Finn, but that’s not the case.

I do break the ice, though. I realize that I can’t just  _ not  _ look at her for the entire time we’re together, so I break the ice by glancing at her while she’s trying to open my vent. And the first thing I see is the large, softball sized bruise on her cheek. It starts at the lobe of her ear and extends all the way down to the tip of her chin. From the lobe of her ear, it curves up to the top of her cheekbone and stops at her nostril. I can even see where the skin on her lip was split at the corner of her mouth. The rims of the bruise are turning yellow so it’ll probably be gone soon, but it still looks like it really hurts.

I’m really gentle with the way I reach out and stroke my fingers across it.

She sits upright really fast when she feels me touch her and for a second, I think that maybe I hurt her, so I pull away. But I can tell that I didn’t by the way her hand goes up to her cheek in place of mine and I don’t see any signs of pain on her face.

“...Okay?” I ask her, and she understands me as a person. She understands me enough that I don’t need to add the “ are you” before the “okay.”

“I’m okay,” she nods. “Don’t worry about it, it’s just a bruise.”

“Ow.”

“Yeah, well,” she slips her tongue inside her cheek like she’s thinking, and parts of the bruise sort of disappear when the skin pops out. “I deserved it, so.”

“No.”

“No, seriously, Quinn,” she puts her smoothie in the cupholder and turns her head so she’s facing me. “I did. I’m not too proud to admit that I did. Mercedes was right. I did know. I knew all along that you were throwing up and I did absolutely nothing to stop you.” She exhales long and hard through her nose. “I guess I was just hoping that it wasn’t as big a problem as it was. And I didn’t really want to step on your toes when you were already seeing a therapist.”

_ Maybe Mercedes blames her for knowing and not doing anything, but I don’t. In all honesty, there wasn’t anything Rachel could have done to stop me. There wasn’t anything anyone could have done. I’ve been this way for a very long time and in my naïveté, I never thought it was going to get that bad. In a way, it feels like my eating disorder is a part of me. It’s woven so intricately into every fiber of my being that nothing I do isn’t revolved around it. I eat breakfast and immediately I’m thinking about what I have to cut out of my lunch to make up for the extra calories I consumed at breakfast. I’d eat dinner and then I’d feel guilty. Then the days when I’d go on a binge, I’d eat until it hurt and wouldn’t stop until I knew that it was all out of me and into the toilet. It’s just a part of who I am. Rachel couldn’t have changed that. Nobody can. _

“I thought you were gonna die, Quinn.” Her jaw starts to tremble after she says that and she puts her head against the steering wheel. She’s loud when she sucks in a deep breath and I can tell she’s crying.

_ I’m so sorry. Really, I am. I… I stole something from everyone that night, didn’t I? I stole everyone’s peace. Bailey talked to me about that way back when she first started seeing me for trying to kill myself, and I think I finally understand what she meant. I didn’t get it back then, but I understand it now. _

_ Everyone is afraid now. I can’t go upstairs and use the bathroom without Mom worrying that I’m up there throwing up, I can't have a really bad day at school without Mercedes worrying that I’m going to try to kill myself, and I can’t lock myself in my room to cry with my phone off without Rachel worrying that I’m dead. I can’t do that anymore because I stole something from them. I stole their sense of security. They fear for me now because of my actions and my actions do not only affect me. I affect everyone around me. I’m not the only one who went through what I went through. I’m not the only one who was afraid that night. I affect them because they care about me. I affect them because they love me. _

“Sorry,” I have to bite my lip to keep the tears in my eyes. I rest my hand in the middle of Rachel’s back and watch her in silence as she cries.  _ She cries because I scared her. She cries over the thought of losing me.  _ “I’m so sorry, Rachel…” I whisper, not only because it hurts to talk louder.

“No, I’m sorry Quinn,” she picks her head up and her face is red and blotchy, but she pulls ur together. She sniffs and clears her throat. “It’s me who’s sorry, not you. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me and I’m sorry that I haven’t been a better girlfriend, and I am… SO… sorry that I kissed Finn.”

_ Oh yeah, that’s right. You did. I forgot about it for a minute. One glorious minute. _

“I don’t have an excuse,” she shakes her head and her jaw trembles some more.  _ Really…? Well. At least you’re honest, I guess.  _ “I know you’re probably waiting for this big long explanation and this excuse for what I did, but I can’t give you one because I don’t have one. There’s no excuse for it. I shouldn’t have done it, you didn’t deserve it, and there’s no excuse for it.”

_ Yep, she’s honest. At least she’s got that going for her. _

“I guess I thought it would… make me feel something? I don’t know. I… don’t know. I was hoping that I would feel something when I kissed him but I felt… I felt nothing. The whole bus ride there, the whole time we were getting ready, the whole time we were rehearsing, I felt nothing. You kissed me and I felt nothing, you fingered me, I felt nothing, we watched a movie, I felt nothing, then I kissed him and I realized you saw me and then… I felt everything again.” She’s crying in a way that I have never seen Rachel cry before and I’m a little worried… I’m more worried than angry or hurt… I think something’s wrong with her… I think something happened… I knew she was acting weird on the bus ride to regionals… I knew it...

But I don’t interrupt because she’s on a roll explaining herself and I think I should let her finish before I say anything.

“I didn’t mean anything to me, Quinn. And I know, I know that’s what everyone in the history of cheating says, but I SWEAR to you… I swear on my LIFE that it meant nothing. I’m… I’m sorry that it was Finn and I’m sorry that you had to see it and I wish to god it was anyone but him, but it was him. I could have been anyone… if I had a duet that I was rehearsing with Brittany, it would’ve been Brittany. If I had a duet with Blaine, it would have been Blaine. I’m so sorry that it was Finn, but I just… I had to feel something. I had to feel something, I couldn’t walk around feeling nothing anymore.”

I try to hand her some of the napkins they gave us from our smoothies, but she doesn’t take them. She should really take them, though. Her face is soaked and she’s crying so much and so hard that her coat is getting wet too.

“I wish they would have waited until after regionals to tell me, but I knew something was up and they never lie to me, so when I asked, they… they just…” She finally takes the napkins as new sobs rock her body.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, trying to resist the urge to reach over and hold my hand. It is so hard not to comfort her right now when all I want to do is pull her close to me and kiss her cheek until she calms down. “Who told you what?”

“They’re separating…” She takes a breath and rolls her eyes up to the ceiling. “I got up in the middle of the night — which I  _ never  _ do — and I saw him on the couch. I went back up to my room and tried to pretend like I didn’t know what I saw, but… they were acting different, you know? The next morning at breakfast, Daddy didn’t make Dad’s coffee like he always does. And Dad put ham in my omelet when he knows I don’t eat meat. It was just different. So…. so I asked. I asked why Daddy slept on the couch last night. And they told me…”

“Oh,” I feel my own throat closing up and tears threatening to fall. “Rachel…” I finally hold her hand. She lets me squeeze it. “I’m sorry…”

“They say it’s just temporary or whatever, but… I dunno, it feels pretty permanent to me?” She dabs her eyes with the napkin. “All my dad’s clothes are out of the closet, and they don’t have a joint bank account anymore. It feels permanent. They asked me how I felt about it and I… I didn’t say anything because I didn’t feel anything. I felt nothing, Quinn. Nothing. But now… now it feels like my parents are gone. I don’t know who they are without each other.”

I use my thumbs to wipe away two fresh tears that trickle down her cheeks. “That’s what was wrong on the bus? Because I knew, I just didn’t really know if I should say anything. But I knew something was up. I knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, and I was gonna tell you. I was gonna tell you. I knew you’d notice, I knew you’d see that I wasn’t really playing the dodgeball game with you guys and that’s why I kept wanting to go to sleep and I wasn’t really talking during the movie and… I wanted to talk to you about it. But then you started telling me all that heavy stuff about your dad and your sister, and I just… I didn’t think it was the right time.”

“You should’ve told me,” I reach over and grab her other hand too. “Look at me… You could have told me. There’s nothing in this world that is more important to me than how you feel and if you were going through something like that…” I rub her hands with my thumbs. “You could have told me.”

“I just didn’t want to seem like I was trying to make my issues more important than yours,” she sighs and looks into my eyes.

“So tell me now,” I bring her hands up to my lips and kiss them. “You couldn’t tell me then, so tell me now.”

“Quinn.”

“I’m serious, Rachel. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. I don’t matter right now, I don’t need you to hold me up. I’m not fragile, I’m not going to break. All I care about is you. Tell me now. What’s going on? How are you feeling?”

She looks down at our smoothies in the cupholder and hesitates for a moment before she starts speaking again, like she’s going through her mind and gathering the words. “...It’s like I don’t know what love is anymore. Which… sounds stupid, I know. Everyone goes through a separation these days and everyone gets a divorce, so I know, it sounds stupid. But it’s the truth. I feel like… like my whole life I looked up to them. I watched people stare when they held hands in public, even heard one of my dance instructors imply that they’re both going to hell. You know, there was this one time where we went to the mall to buy me new leotards. They were holding hands as we were walking out of the store and I heard someone yell something at them… called them the f-a-g word or something like that, I don’t really remember. But they kissed each other right in front of the person who yelled at them just to prove a point I guess. And next thing I know, my dad’s on the floor and someone’s kicking him and security steps in front of me and pulls the guy away but turns to my dads and tells them that they shouldn’t be spreading that “bullshit” around or something like that. And you know what?”

_ Wow… that’s terrible. She really had to watch that happen…? I had no idea… _

“What?” I reply and I feel a little sick to my stomach listening to this story.

“My dads just turned around and held hands again,” she shrugs. “And that was the moment that I knew — I mean  _ really knew  _ — what love is. I’m not going to lie and say that it didn’t scare the crap out of me and I’d be lying if I said watching them go through that isn’t part of the reason I really didn’t want to be gay, but… I just always looked at them and thought that I’d be lucky if I could find their kind of love someday. And I don’t know what that kind of love is. He kissed somebody, Quinn…”

“Who?”

“My dad.”

“No, I meant who did he kiss?”

“Some guy at his office, I don’t know. But he came home and told my dad about it. I guess it happened a few weeks ago and they were trying to work through it but I guess they can’t because now they’re separating.” She picks the napkin she used to wipe her face into small pieces. “I was just trying to make sense of it.”

_ I see… I still don’t like it, but I think I understand it… _

“When we started dating, I felt like I found it. I know I told you that I loved you like… five seconds after we started dating and I know that it was soon, but I really felt it. I felt it and I thought I found that kind of love that my dads had. I couldn’t really understand why he would kiss somebody else when they loved each other as much as they did and I thought… I thought that maybe if I could understand it, I would be able to make sense of it and forgive it.” She looks up at me with wide, sorrowful eyes. I can tell that she really is sorry… “I’m sorry that it was Finn. But it would’ve been whoever was there at the moment, I swear.”

“I get it,” I nod my head. “I mean, I’m still pretty pissed about it and yeah, I wish it would've been someone else, but I get it. I’m sorry that you had to go through that with your dads alone. I’m sorry that you couldn’t talk to me about it.” I sigh. “...Finn, though? Rachel, really? Finn?”

“If it means anything to you, I talked to him about it. He came to me and told me that he was willing to fight for me if that’s what it took and I told him not to. I told him there’s no use in fighting for me when it’s going to be you. It’s going to be you every single time, Quinn.” She says and that makes me smile. For what it’s worth, I would pick her every time, too. 

“...You know, I planned on asking you to winter formal.” I lick my lips out of pure nervous habit. “Before all this shit happened.”

“You did?!” Her face lights completely up and this is the Rachel I missed. I missed the Rachel that made me feel like everything is magic, even her smile. “Winter formal?! You actually want to go?!”

“I had a whole thing planned, actually. I was gonna ask you on the bus at regionals in front of everybody. Santana said I should. She said I should make a big spectacle. A… winter formal-posal, she called it. I was gonna —“

“Quinn, don’t,” she puts her finger against my lips to shush me. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. Of course I’ll go to winter formal with you if you’re feeling better by then.”

“I’ll be better,” I nod my head with a certain amount of determination because now, I have to be. I have to be better. I won’t miss winter formal for the world. I WILL be better by then, even if it kills me. “...One more thing? Since we’re being honest?”

“Anything.”

“...I kissed my therapist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for an update on this story! I was on vacation in South Carolina for a week and didn’t really have time to write, but I should update regularly again now that I’m back home. I plan on ending this story by the end of the month, so I should be cranking out updates pretty quickly.
> 
> And just to let you guys know, I started a new story. It’s called The Keeper, and it’s really different from All The Best but I think you guys might like it. It’s going to be a really cool story and it follows Rachel and Quinn equally. So check it out and let me know what you guys think so far! If you don’t like it by the time I’m ten chapters in, I have another idea that I might try out instead. So just let me know your thoughts.
> 
> I love you guys and I missed you over my vacation! :D


	71. I Can Only Imagine

** _“I can only imagine what it will be like when I walk by Your side.”_ **

_ When the sun breaks through the stained glass window painted to look like the Virgin Mary, my shoulders shudder and the chills race all through my body. I feel tingly inside, like between these four walls and standing on this floor all lined with pews is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Dad used to tell me that when you get the chills, it’s God wrapping his arms around you. I think I believe him now. _

** _“I can only imagine what my eyes will see when Your face is before me… I can only imagine.”_ **

_ Church is the fullest it’s ever been on this fine Sunday morning. There isn’t one single pew that isn’t completely filled, and everyone sits with their knees touching. Some people hold hands, others sway from side to side with their eyes closed. I don’t know about anybody else in my family, but I’ve always really loved it when the choir sings “I Can Only Imagine.” It’s my favorite gospel song by far. _

** _“Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel? Will I dance for you, Jesus, or in awe of You be still?”_ **

_ It’s not unusual for a few people to cry when the choir sings. Hell, sometimes I cry when the choir sings too. And nobody ever judges, by the way. A box of tissues makes its way around and snakes through the pews and everyone wipes their eyes and nobody makes anyone feel weird about crying, and I think that’s beautiful. People cry in church all the time.  _

_ But nobody ever cries the way everyone in church seems to be crying today… _

** _“Will I stand in Your presence? Or to my knees, will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah? Will I be able to speak at all?”_ **

_ Wait, something about today’s morning mass is a little bit off; I’m only just now starting to notice. _

_ Everyone is wearing yellow. Various shades of yellow, too. Canary yellow, flaxen yellow, corn yellow, bumblebee yellow, butter yellow, Amber, cream, mustard, saffron… why is everybody wearing yellow? _

** _“I can only imagine… I can only imagine.”_ **

_ And those voices… those two, sweet, beautiful, mellifluous voices, singing together in perfect harmony. Two entirely different voices — voices of opposite spectrums — but when they come together, something magical happens. I know those two voices, I’ve heard them a million times. I can recognize their perfect pitch anywhere… _

** _“I can only imagine when that day comes, and I find myself standing in the sun.”_ **

_ Why are Rachel and Shelby singing in my church today? Why are Rachel and Shelby even IN my church today? _

_ And wait, why is everyone in Glee Club here? There’s Santana and Brittany and Blaine and Kurt and Sam and Sugar and Mr. Schue and everybody else and they all seem sad… they’re all so sad… everyone is so sad… even Russel and Judy, who sit so close to each other that it looks like they’re connected... _

_ Mercedes is sitting in the front pew and she’s next to mom and dad… and then there’s Mykel and Frannie and… and Beth?!  _

** _“I can only imagine when all I will do is forever… forever worship You...”_ **

_ Rachel’s sad too! What’s wrong with her?! Why is she crying? She can’t even sing anymore, she’s just shaking her head and crying and she can’t even stand up and then I didn’t even know that her dads are here too but apparently they are because they both just come up to where she’s standing and they both have to hold her and carry her away and she’s crying so hard and so loud that she sounds like a baby animal being ripped away from its mother and I don’t like hearing her cry like that… _

_ Hold on… what about me? Where am I at in all of this? _

** _“Surrounded by Your glory, what will my heart feel? Will I dance for You, Jesus, or in all of You be still? Will I stand in Your presence? Or to my knees will I fall? Will I sing hallelujah? Will I be able to speak at all?”_ **

_ Shelby keeps singing even when Rachel’s gone and that’s when I see it. That’s when I see  _ _ me. _

_ There’s a casket at the end of the aisle. A pretty, yellow, shiny, sparkly casket. And when I get closer to it, I can’t deny that it’s me inside. I’m all done up in pretty makeup and my hair is curly. I’m washed and dressed in my favorite white dress. The necklace Rachel gave me with the “R” on it is around my neck. And the bracelet Mom and Dad gave me for my birthday is around my wrist. I look like I’m sleeping… except my chest isn’t moving… _

_ I’m… dead? Is this… my funeral…? _

_ One look to my right and I have my answer. There’s a picture propped up on something that looks like a giant easel. It’s me and I’m smiling and I look really pretty in my Cheerios uniform. My hair is all long and flowing down my back with bouncy curls and I look like a model. I’ve seen this picture of me at least a dozen times in the yearbook. But it’s the only time I’ve seen this picture have the year I was born and the year it currently is right now, written in black numbers across the bottom. _

_ I don’t want to be dead! I can’t be dead! I don’t want to be dead! _

_ I look away from that stupid picture and then back into the casket at my body, and what I see next makes me want to jump out of my skin! _

_ Suddenly, Shelby stops singing and everybody is dead silent and standing up! They’re all staring at me and looking at me and I’m looking at me too, because I was clean a second ago! A second ago, I was clean and washed up and in this casket looking pretty but now there’s blood all over me! There’s so much blood and it’s coming from my nose and my mouth and it’s so thick and runny that the casket isn’t even yellow anymore… _

_ “Quinn!” I scream at myself, then put my hands on my shoulders and shake hard. “Quinn! Quinn!” _

_ Everyone in the church starts screaming my name too, so loud that my ears hurt, but I’m still not responding. I’m still dead.. _

_ “Quinn!” _

_ “Quinn!” _

_ “Quinn!” _

When I wake up, it’s only because my body is being shaken just as violently as I was shaking myself at my funeral. My shoulders go down, my head jerks up, and I’m thrust from sleep to full consciousness in a matter of seconds. I’d usually be annoyed if I was woken up in such a violent manner, but today I’m willing to make an exception. That dream was plain awful.

“Wake up, Quinn. Come on, wake up.” Mom’s voice doesn’t match the way she was shaking me. Her voice is low and smooth and her movements are harsh and intense. “Wake up, kiddo.”

My eyes snap open and start to water as they adjust to the sudden light, and I feel a headache forming behind my eyes. I don’t know how Mom knew that I needed to be woken up, but I’m starting to think that she has original senses inside of her body that tell her when I need her the most. I know I would have woken up eventually, but it was better to wake up from a dream like that sooner instead of later.

“You okay?” She asks as she sits down on the edge of my bed and pulls my blanket back away from my face. I don’t know what time it is and I’m not quite sure how long I had been asleep, but she still has a satin wrap on her head, so it must be kind of early in the morning. She wears that wrap to bed and it’s usually off by the time me and Mercedes wake up in the morning.

I only remember that my throat hurts when I swallow. The burning sensation gets better and better every day, but I think I still have a long way to go before it doesn’t burn at all. I start to sit up slowly and that’s when I see that Mom has my medicine bag with her. It has to be around 9:00 and it has to be the next morning. I didn’t think I slept that long, but apparently I did.

When I got back from Baskin-Robbins with Rachel, I sat down and ate dinner and everyone wanted to ask me how things with Rachel went, but nobody really did. I don’t think anybody thought it was their business to ask. I would have told them, though. If they had asked, I would have told them that Rachel and I are fine. I don’t know if we’re dating again and I wouldn’t exactly call her my girlfriend, but I know that I’m not single and free to do as I please and neither is she. We’re working it out one step at a time.

I went to bed soon after we ate dinner because my throat was hurting and I took some of the pain medicine I have. The pain medicine always makes me sleepy, so I laid down and fell asleep and it couldn’t have been any later than 7:30 when I went to bed for the night. I slept for a long time, I guess. I slept since 7:30 last night. And I feel great, I feel like I slept that long.  _ I wonder if Santana ever ended up coming over…  _

“You have a bad dream?” Mom opens up my medicine bag and starts with the big bottle of my antibiotic. “I heard you cryin’ all the way in the hall.”

“Hmm?” I moan because moaning is easier and less painful than talking.

“I heard you crying in the hallway,” she sticks the syringe in the bottle and draws up the thick white liquid. “Sounded like a bad dream.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. I find that the first words of the day hurt the worst and according to the doctor, that’s normal. It’s normal to be in excruciating pain first thing in the morning after my throat has rested while I was asleep. “Bad dream.”

“Yeah? S’all right, baby,” she taps the syringe on the side of the bottle so excess liquid doesn’t drip on my bed. “Here, first one.”

I open my mouth and tilt my head back slightly because I know the drill. I tried to give myself my medicine when I first came home, because I’m seventeen and I’m not a baby and I know how to suck up stuff into a syringe and squirt it out. But Mom insists that she’s the one who gives me my medicine and I guess I’m okay with that. I think it’s just one more of the things I stole from her when I did what I did. I made it hard for her to trust me and that trust bleeds over into something as simple as taking medicine. 

Either that, or Mom just really likes to take care of me.

I make a little noise and wince when she squirts the first round of medicine down my throat because it burns, but I know I have to swallow it. So I close my lips and even though I want to cry because it hurts so bad, I don’t. I just close my lips, let the medicine trickle down the back of my throat, and try my hardest to bear with the pain.

“Good girl,” Mom mumbles and uses her thumb to wipe the medicine that dribbled down my chin. “Three more, okay?” She uses the same syringe and draws up the second antibiotic. I clench my eyelids closed really tight and nervously anticipate the second round with an open mouth.

“I hate the way this one tastes,” I stick my tongue out after I swallow the second one and wrinkle my nose. “It tastes like earwax.”

“And how would you know what earwax taste like, girl?” Mom laughs as the screws the cap off my heart medicine next. “You been munchin’ on some earwax or something?”

“Maybe,” I shrug with a playful grin. “I just wish all my medicine can taste like bubblegum.” I tilt my head back again and let her give me the heart medicine. “I don’t need any pain medicine.”

“You sure?” She pauses on taking the cap off my pain medicine. “You not in any pain?”

“No, I’m okay.” I wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “I’m hungry.”

“I know you are,” she stands up and starts stuffing all my medicine back into the bag. “There’s some oatmeal and apple juice downstairs on the table I made for you. I want you to go eat it ‘fore them antibiotics mess your stomach up. You hear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And I just got off the phone with that nutritionist. You got an appointment at the end of the month, alright? You make sure you tell your mama to take you when you go back there. Promise me you gonna go.”

“I promise,” I look down when I say that, not because I intend on breaking my promise but because it’s too hard to look her in the eye. 

It hasn’t fully set in for me yet. I know I’m going back to my old house by next Monday, and I know these are my last days with the Joneses, but it hasn’t fully registered with me yet. It hasn’t hit me that by this time next month, I’ll be back under the same roof as Judy and Russel and I’ll be back in the same deep end of the ocean without a paddle or a lifesaver to grab onto. I try not to think about it too much because it makes me sad, but maybe it’s time that I do start thinking about it… maybe it’s time to prepare myself.

“...Do I have to go?” I finally look up at Mom, and the look on her face breaks my heart. “Isn’t there something you can do?”

“Hey listen,” she sighs and sits back down on my bed. She pulls me closer to her and wraps her arms around my body and I’ve seen her do this to Mercedes sometimes. She makes her lay on her chest and she rubs her cheek with her fingers and it really calms Mercedes down when she’s having a rough time. It’s calming me down too. “I don’t want you to worry about it, mmkay? There ain’t nothing anyone can do about it. You gots to stay with your mama and that’s that. But I don’t want you to worry about it. Where you live… it don’t make you any more or less my daughter. You can still come over here and stay the night on the weekends, I’ll keep your room set up. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Is it?” I ask because she says that it’s going to be okay but it doesn’t sound like she believes it. “I wanna stay here with you…”

“I know, sweetie. I know… I want you here, too. But things are the way they are for a reason, you know? Sometimes things don’t work out… and maybe… maybe it’s for the better.”

“What if I run away? What if I run away and just come here? Or I can beg the judge… I can beg him to let me stay and tell him that I deserve a choice and… and I can tell him about my dad. I can tell him that my dad is abusive and he —“

“Quinn, listen.” She picks my head up off her chest and forces me to look her in her eyes, and our eyes kind of match each other’s. I don’t mean that in the sense that they look alike or anything because obviously they don’t. Her eyes are dark brown and mine are green. But they both have pain behind them. Pain, mixed with unshed tears. “If you take anything away from being here with me, I want you to take away this. You listenin’ to me?”

“I’m listening, Mommy.”

“You be a kid. Stop worrying about things you ain’t got no business worrying about. Me and Jared… we always gonna be here for you. When you need a place to lay your head or need someone to talk to or a safe place to be yourself? You come here. But all this talk about begging a judge and telling about your dad and all that…” she sighs. “That’s not for you to worry about. That’s for me and Jared to take care of. You just… be a seventeen-year-old little girl. Promise me you will be.”

“I promise.”

She lets me lay my head back down on her chest and we both just sit here for a while in silence, taking each other in. She rubs my back in gentle circles and I listen to the steady “lub-dub” of her heartbeat.

I know she wants me to be a kid, that’s always been her biggest issue with me. When I first came here while I was pregnant, she always told me not to worry about the money and how I was going to buy the things my baby needed because that wasn’t what I should be worried about at fifteen-going-on-sixteen. She says she wants me to be a kid and to stop worrying about things that adults should worry about but in all honesty… I don’t know how that’s possible.

How does she expect me not to worry about the fact that I have to go home? I do feel a little bit stronger and a little bit wiser now that I’ve been here and I know what a good family is supposed to be like and what love is supposed to feel like, but I’m not ready. I’m not ready to go back home. I’m not ready to leave them. How can I go anywhere but here when I know this is where I’m meant to be? I know she wants me to be a kid… but I can’t when I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

“Alright, kiddo,” she taps her hand on my butt twice as if she’s evicting me from her lap. When I sit up, she gets off my bed and heads for the door again. “Go ‘head and get yourself together. I’m gonna go heat up your food in case it’s cold. I’ll meet ya downstairs.”

“Okay.”

She closes my door behind her and as soon as she leaves, I hear the doorbell ring and Whitney and Bobby start barking like crazy. It’s probably just Dad coming home. He didn’t work today because he’s still on family leave with my emergency and stuff, but he left out to grab a few groceries and soft foods that I can eat. He doesn’t take his key when he leaves and he knows someone is home, but it really sucks sometimes because he makes the dogs bark when he has to ring the doorbell.

As I rummage through my drawers in search of a decent pair of pajama pants, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe Mom is just trying to act brave for me. In a way, it seems like she’s not really bothered by the fact that I have to go back to Judy and Russel. She’s comforting me and telling me to act like a kid and telling me that “this is the way it has to be”, and I think maybe she’s just putting up a front so she doesn’t upset me.

I heard her crying the other night. It was while I was still in the hospital, and it was the same day the social worker came to us and told us that the judge plans on sending me back to my parents. She didn’t cry at the time, she mostly just yelled about how unfair it was. But then when she saw me peeking around the corner eavesdropping, she put on a smile and acted like everything was okay. I heard her crying that night. She and Dad were outside my room talking about just taking me and moving the whole family to another state. She was crying a lot and that’s when I realized how serious this is.

I think she tries to be brave so that she doesn’t upset me, but I’m already upset. If I go back to Russel and Judy, I think I’m going to be upset for the rest of my life.

I tie the drawstrings around my waist when I put on my favorite pair of blue fuzzy pants and put a plain white t-shirt over the tank top I slept in. Part of the beauty of cutting my hair short like I did is not having to worry about what it looks like in the mornings. Sometimes it’s messy and sticking up all over the place, but all I usually have to do is run my fingers through it and it falls just fine. One look in my mirror and I run my fingers through my hair and I’m all set for the day.

Rachel will probably come over later. She says she wants to avoid being home as much as possible because it’s depressing not having both her dads under the same roof anymore, so I told her she could come over after school if she wanted to. I can’t wait to go back to school. I can’t wait to be back in Glee club.

I slide my feet into my slippers and head for the steps. And I’m thinking that I’m just going to sit at the table and have breakfast with Mom and Dad, because we’re the only ones home since Mercedes is at school. I’m thinking that this is going to be the same day as yesterday with me just lounging around on the couch, watching TV and taking multiple naps with Dad. I think that this is just going to be another boring day.

But when I reach the landing of the steps, I’m face to face with someone who is the furthest thing from normal. I’m face to face with someone I never thought I’d see again. I’m face to face with someone who makes my stomach drop down to my kneecaps.

...I never expected to see Bailey standing in the hallway.

* * *

When a light gust of wind blows, I watch the delicate white petals sway gently and a few little tufts of soft dirt blow over the rim of the purple pot. I stroke my fingers along the petals and touch the bumpy yellow center. I’ve never been given a plant before, but this one is awfully pretty. I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a plant, but I think it was really thoughtful for her to bring me a gift, so I’ll try to keep it alive for that reason. I’ll leave it on the windowsill so it can get some light, and I’ll water it at the same time every single day,

It’s a nice day outside for it to be the middle of winter in Lima, Ohio. The sun is shining and the wind is blowing, but there’s not really a chill in the air. And it’s really quiet since the birds all flew south for the winter. We’re both being really quiet too, by the way. I don’t think either one of us knows what to say.

She wanted to know if there was a place where we could talk and be alone. I started to take her up to my bedroom but given what happened the last time we were together, I didn’t think that being in a bedroom alone with her was a good idea. So I grabbed my coat and stepped out onto the porch. Now I’m sitting on the creaky old bench that swings from the ceiling, and she’s standing right across from me with her back against one of the pillars.

She drives a nice car. It’s silver and it’s a Volkswagen and I’m not sure what year it is, but it looks pretty modern and recent. It’s not exactly the kind of car I pictured her driving, but it suits her now that I look at it. And I know it’s hers, because there’s a decal on the back window that has two hockey sticks crossing and white cursive letters that say “Quinn.”

“...They’re daisies,” she drums her fingers along the white railing that wraps around the porch.

“Huh?” I raise one eyebrow as I finally look at her.

She changed her hair and that’s the first thing I noticed when I saw her in the hallway a few minutes ago. It’s really dark now, but it’s purple with a reddish tinge to it. She’s wearing it pin straight and down, but she has a dark yellow knit beanie hat on her head. Her eye makeup is really dramatic and pretty. It’s white with black winged eyeliner and applied nearly perfect. I like her jeans. They’re black with rips in the legs and stuffed into white Doc Martens. I also like the way her yellow plaid flannel matches her beanie hat. Her hair isn’t the only thing that’s different since the last time I saw her. She’s also sporting a silver hoop in her left nostril.

“The flowers,” she shifts her weight onto her back leg and raises her eyebrows at me. “They’re daisies. I asked the guy at the flower shop what kinda flowers are good for like… meaning rebirth and new beginnings — you know, shit like that — and he told me daisies. So they’re daisies.”

“Oh…” I nod my head slowly and put the plant down on the bench next to me. “Pretty. Thanks.”

“Look, Quinn. It doesn’t have to be awkward… you know.” She looks down at the porch and even though she just said that it doesn’t have to be awkward, it seems pretty awkward to me. “I came here to see how you were doing… and to apologize, I guess.”

“I’m doing okay.” I bite the inside of my lip. I don’t know if she’s still my therapist or not, so I don’t know how much is okay to tell her. I mean, I feel like she’s still my therapist. Even though things are awkward between us, I still feel like I need to spill my guts whenever I look at her. There’s just so many things I have to tell her… “I’m better. And you don’t have to apologize. I’d just… rather not… you know, talk about it.”

“Yeah, well I think you know that we  _ have  _ to talk about it.” She looks off into the distance and I’ve never seen Bailey act more nervous in my life. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Bailey, please, I don’t —“

“No, you need to hear this. You need to hear me apologize.” She shuts me up with a very firm, authoritative tone of her voice. “I failed you, you know. I did all that talking to you during our sessions about how every adult in your life has failed you in some way or another, and look at me… adding myself to the list.”

“I don’t think you failed me…”

“But I did. I’m the adult in the situation, I’m the one who —“

“I’m not a child, though. I may not be an adult legally, but I’m not a baby who didn’t know what she was doing. You’re trying to take all the blame here, but I’m not going to let you. It was something we —“

“Yeah, but see, the thing is Quinn, you ARE a child.” She sounds like she’s mad at me when she says that or something and again, it shuts me up. “In the eyes of the law and as far as I’m concerned, you’re a child. And what happened between us should have NEVER happened. Period. I failed as a therapist that day, I acted unprofessionally, and it is my responsibility as the adult in this situation to apologize and let you know that it cannot and will not EVER happen again. I let things get out of control. I let the lines become blurred. I got wrapped up in my feelings. It’s on me.”

Things are silent between us again and I think it’s because we’re both thinking. Well, at least  _ I’m _ thinking, anyway. I know that what happened was bad. I know that it’s against so many laws and it’s super unethical, and it was really wrong, but… I don’t know, I thought it could have been something special, I guess. She’s making it seem like it was something that was just strictly wrong and not something that could have ever been right and I don’t see it that way. I don’t think it’s black and white. I think there’s gray in there somewhere. I needed someone in that moment and she was there. We both liked each other… it’s not something that we should be angry about or ashamed of. I know it can’t happen again and I don’t want it to happen again. But it  _ did  _ happen and I don’t think it was strictly bad. It wasn’t good. But it wasn’t horrible…

“...I told Rachel.” I stop moving the swing so it doesn’t creak anymore after I say that. “That we kissed.”

Bailey closes her eyes as if she’s embarrassed about it. She was probably hoping that I didn’t tell anyone and I didn’t, aside from Rachel. Nobody else knows and Rachel isn’t going to tell anybody. Our secret has never been safer.

“It’s okay,” I stand up from the swing, but I don’t walk over to her. I realize that I was about to go over and put my hand on her shoulder to comfort her and while that is something I would have done before we kissed, it’s not something I think I can do anymore. I think this is what she meant when she said the lines were blurred between us. “Rachel’s not gonna tell anyone, she wouldn’t. I just… I had to tell her so we could… move on, or whatever. She won’t tell. I know she won’t.”

Bailey takes a deep breath then looks up at me again. “...So what’d she say? She mad at you?”

“No,” I shake my head. “She was hurt, but. She liked the fact that I was honest. I think we’re going to start over, me and her. Things are okay now.”

“Are  _ you  _ okay?” She asks that question like she genuinely cares. She’s not asking as my therapist, I can tell. She’s asking as the woman who kissed me back, the woman who can’t deny that something was there between us when our lips met.

“I think I will be.” The wind blows again so I put my hands in my coat pocket. “I feel like I’m okay… and I feel like even if there are days when I’m not okay, I will be eventually. I feel okay.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Quinn. Really, I am. I’m just happy that you’re okay.” She half-smiles at me, then looks out into the street at her car. “I’d better go. I just came over to see how you were doing and drop off the plant, so. Yeah.”

“I really do like the flowers.” I half-smile back. “I think they’re perfect.”

“I thought you would,” she grins one more time and pulls her car keys from her back pocket.

“Wait, Bailey,” I tuck my hair behind my ears and bite my lip as I try to work up the nerve to ask her what I want to ask her. I think it’s important for me to know. It’ll help with my sanity to know… “...Did you like it?”

Her head drops again like she’s embarrassed.

“I just…” I nervously hesitate so I can choose my words carefully. “...I’m starting to feel crazy thinking that maybe I just dreamt the whole thing up, you know? Thinking that it was just some… childish fantasy of mine, that I was just crazy and it was all one sided and I dreamt up the way I thought we felt about each other.” I hesitate again. “...Am I crazy?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I...I wanted to kiss you too, Quinn. I wanted to kiss you…  _ really  _ bad.” She takes one more step toward her car and her face falls because she knows what can’t be between us. She knows what  _ we  _ cannot be. “But I did some soul searching and I’ve decided that your health is more important than anything I’m feeling. So that’s a boundary that we can’t cross. Ever again.”

“...So can I still see you?”  _ She wanted it too… I’m not crazy… there was something electric between us. I know that we can’t be together and to be honest, I think I want Bailey as my therapist more than I want her as anything else. And even though it still hurts… I only want Rachel.  _ “I think I still need you. I wanna still see you… if I can.”

“...Tuesday. 5:00 at my office. Don’t be late.”

* * *

**New Text Message**

**Wednesday, December 18**

**4:25 p.m.**

**SHELBY: ** Hey you. Feeling any better?

**4:28 p.m.**

**ME: ** hey! :) yes, feeling much better. still have a sore throat but that’s the extent of it. how are you? how’s munchkin? i was going to call you sometime this weekend.

**4:30 p.m.**

**SHELBY: ** Glad to hear it. So happy you are ok. Beth is fine. Two new teeth that are cutting through. Was wondering if you feel ok enough to watch her for a few hrs. If your parents say yes. Have to run a few errands. Will be easier if Beth is not with me.

**ME: ** omg of course! yes yes yes yes!

**SHELBY: ** Ok! Will bring her in about 1 hr? Ok?

**ME: ** yes!!!!!

I put my phone down just as Rachel comes back from the bathroom, and I can’t contain the smile on my face. I get to see Beth! I get to see my baby! I missed her so much! I was going to ask Shelby if I could have her for a few hours this weekend because I really haven’t had the energy to keep up with her lately, but I miss her too much to tell Shelby that, so I’ll have her today! And Rachel will be here and so will Mom and Dad and Mercedes if Beth gets to be too much. They’ll take her off my hands for a few moments if I need to rest. I get to see Beth!

“So it took me like five years to figure out where you guys keep the extra toilet paper,” Rachel says as she plops back down on my bed. “I used the last little bit and I didn’t want to be rude by not replacing it so I went on a search in every cabinet.”

“You could’ve just asked,” I giggle and fold my legs at the knee so she has her place to sit down. “I could’ve just told you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to run the risk of leaving to ask and having someone walk in to no toilet paper. That’s so rude.” She picks up the same straw we’ve been working with for the last half hour and spreads the little pieces of paper out on my quilt. “Okay, you ready to go again?”

I take the straw from her hand and sigh. “Are you sure you don’t wanna watch a movie or something? I’ll order a cheese pizza and Diet Coke and one of those chocolate lava cakes from Pizza Hut and we can just sit here and get fat and stuff.”

“You can’t even eat pizza, Diet Coke and lava cake.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m fine, we need to keep going.”

“Yeah, but Rachel…” I sigh again because I feel so horrible. She’s been sitting here on my bed with me, doing the swallowing exercises that the doctor told me to do. I just feel like we should be doing more. She seems so content to sit here and watch me suck up pieces of paper with a straw and drop them into a plastic cup. “This isn’t the way you should spend your birthday. You shouldn’t have to spend it looking after me.”

“Quinn, it’s a Wednesday and it’s a school night,” she spreads the pieces of papers out in an even layer. “We can do something this weekend. And besides,” she musters up a smile. “This is exactly how I want to spend my birthday. All I wanted for my birthday was for you to forgive me, and look. Forgiveness.”

“I couldn’t even run out and get you a cake,” I mumble. “Some girlfriend I am.”

“Oh, so you’re my girlfriend again?!” She smiles so big that it’s hard for me not to smile too. “This really is my birthday!”

“Don’t push it,” I nudge her with my foot and laugh. “Shelby’s bringing Beth over in a little while.”

“Aww, Bethie! I haven’t seen her in a while, Shelby’s been super busy. I mean, I saw her in passing for like two seconds yesterday, but —“

“In passing?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “She dropped my birthday gift off at school because she didn’t think she’d have time to give it to me today. She wanted to do it in person and see my face when I opened it and stuff.”

“What’d she get you?”

“Broadway tickets. Second row from the stage, Hamilton.”

_ “Hamilton?!” _

“Hamilton.”

_ “Second row from the stage?!” _

“So close that the actresses will SPIT on me when they sing.”

“She has to have paid like a thousand dollars! Do you know how expensive second row Hamilton tickets are?! Believe me, I know! I checked! I was gonna buy them for you for Christmas but I took one look at the prices and thought, ‘better luck next time’!” My jaw can’t stop dropping.  _ Seriously… Shelby got her Hamilton tickets… that is CRAZY… _

“Quinn, I know. I opened the envelope and I almost cried. I told her that I couldn’t accept it… those tickets they’re… crazy!” She shakes her head like she still can’t believe it. “...She got me two of them. And I think she bought them with the idea that I’d take you or Kurt with me, but… I dunno, I kinda want to go with her. This whole thing with my dads, it’s… it’s kinda making me wish I had a mom. Is that weird?”

“No,” I shake my head and put my hand on her kneecap. “You should. Take Shelby, I mean. You should go with her.”  _ I didn’t consider how much her birthday this year probably sucks, with her dads being separated and all. Damn it, I really wish I would have done something for her. I’m gonna plan something big for this weekend. Something spectacular. She deserves it.  _ “...Any word on when your dad’s gonna move back in?”

“Nope,” she signs. “I asked my dad last night if they’re going to get a divorce and he didn’t give me a straight answer. I kinda feel like they are.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” I squeeze her kneecap and make her look at me. She has tears lining the rims of her beautiful brown eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. “When me and Frannie first found out that my dad was cheating on my mom, my first thought was that he didn’t love us, you know? I just thought that like… like if me and Frannie were better daughters and my mom was a better wife, he wouldn’t want to go out there and find someone else.”

“It kinda feels like my fault,” she mumbles. “I don’t know why, it just does.”

“I know the feeling,” I comb my fingers through her silky brown hair. “But it’s not. They love you, Rach. Adults… they mess their shit up and drag us into it all the time, but. I guess the thing you gotta try and hold onto is that they love you. And your dads do. They love you so much, I’ve seen it.”

“They forgot my birthday…” she whispers. “I’m not that sad about it because I know they’re going through something, but…” she sniffs. “Every year on my birthday, my dad makes me pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles on top for breakfast… he didn’t make them this year.” She sighs hard and rolls her eyes. “I dunno, I’m probably just being a baby.”

“I’ll make you pancakes,” I put my head on her shoulder and wrap my arm around her waist. “All the pancakes in the world, I’ll make them.”

She smiles softly. “Extra butter?”

“Yep. The real butter, too. None of that low-fat margarine spread type of shit.”

She laughs really hard and really genuine and I forgot that her laugh is my favorite sound in the world. She turns her head slightly to the side so she can press her lips to my temple and I close my eyes to take in the moment. God, I missed this. I missed it just being her and me and feeling like nothing else in the world matters.

“...I really am sorry, Quinn. I can’t imagine how it must have felt when you walked in and saw us.” She laces her fingers inside mine and interlocks our hands. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I forgive you,” I squeeze her hand, then bring it up to my mouth for a kiss. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you were going through this crap with dads.”

“You know, I just…” Her voice trails off like she’s lost in thought. “I felt like if I loved you the way my dads loved each other, then I could understand it if I kissed someone else too. But the truth is…” she exhales. “The truth is that I try to wreck our relationship because I’m so afraid of loving you all the time. I’m so afraid of loving you and… being gay and… everything. But then you’re laying in that hospital bed and I see you dying and… and I’m not afraid anymore. Suddenly, the only thing that scares me is losing you.”

“Really?”

“You know my dads came to the hospital?” She says.  _ No… I didn’t know that… I must’ve been unconscious…  _ “The day after you got admitted to Dayton, they came. And they tried to take me home. They barged in there and told me that they knew i was scared and I was worried, but I was grounded for leaving the house and taking the car. They tried to take me home. I screamed. I screamed and I yelled and I kicked and I punched… it felt like they were trying to take me away from you.”

_ ….Wow. I didn’t know that… _

“Eventually Shelby told them that she was staying for a while and that she’d look after me…” she continues. “Shelby even tried to get me to change my clothes, but I wouldn’t. I just remember thinking that what I had on was the last thing you touched… when you woke up for a minute and I saw you, before me and Mercedes fought? I touched you. You were on my shirt and on my pants and I couldn’t take it off, I couldn’t. That was the last thing you touched.”

“Rachel…”

“I know we’re only seventeen, Quinn. I know. But I really, really, really do love you…”

As soon as I blink, tears come rushing down my cheeks and I have to take a deep breath so that I don’t start sobbing hard enough to make my heart work overtime. But I can’t help it. She really does love me… she loves me… and I love her too and I know what she means when she says she’s scared to love me because I’m scared to love her too and loving her feels wrong because she’s a girl but I do love her and while I’m here I can love her as freely as I want to but I won’t be here anymore after the court hearing and everything is going to change and all I want to do is love her…

“I’m sorry,” I hold her hands and look her deep in the eyes. “For everything, for scaring you, but really… I’m sorry for the way things were. I’m sorry for how I treated you and for the things I did to you… I don’t deserve you loving me. Not after the way I treated you. But you love me anyway and I just… am so sorry. I wanna take it all back. You are… the most  _ special  _ person in my world and it makes me sick, okay? It makes me sick to think about the way I treated you. I treated you so bad and now look at my life… you love me and I don’t deserve it because I treated you bad and now my life is a wreck and I… I used to think that if I was a better person, all this bad stuff would stop happening to me, but now I’m trying really hard to be a good person and this bad stuff keeps happening to me. It’s like it finds me. I’m prone to it. I don’t deserve you…”

“Quinn, stop…” She puts her hand over my mouth to shut me up. “I know… okay? Trust me, I know. I… I feel that way too. About not deserving you. And… yeah, you were mean, but it’s fine now. I worked through it. It took a lot, but I worked through it and… yeah. Yeah I was afraid to fall for you for a while and yeah, it has a lot to do with why I kept wrecking our relationship, but it’s over now. Everything between us… everything that happened prior to this moment? It’s over.”

“We’re starting over?” I sniffle.

“We’re starting over.” She wipes my tears with her thumb and smiles. “Hi, I’m Rachel Berry.” She makes me smile so wide when she says that and holds out her hand for me to shake. 

Through my tears and shaking my head at her, I take her hand inside mine and shake it.

“Quinn Fabray,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”


	72. Never Give Up On Us

“Why on earth would anybody need that many boxes of fabric softener?” Rachel asks me, never taking her eyes off the tv screen for even a minute.

Her voice sounds like she’s in some kind of trance, like she doesn’t actually want me to answer the question and break her concentration, and I think it’s safe to say that I’ve turned her into an Extreme Couponing fan. She’s not even blinking, her hand is just mindlessly resting in the bowl of potato chips and her mouth is slightly hung open.  _ See? I told you this show is addicting. _

I still don’t think this is the way she should be spending her birthday. She shouldn’t be sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing pajamas, her hair tied back, with potato chip crumbs clinging to the corners of her mouth. We should be stuffing our faces with birthday cake or out to eat dinner at a fancy restaurant. 

Shelby brought Beth over a little while ago and she was asleep when she handed her off to me. She hasn’t woken up yet and I’ve been pretty successful at fighting the urge to wake her, so we’ve just been hanging out in my room (with the door open) watching TV while Beth sleeps on my lap.

When I asked Rachel what she wanted to do, she said all she wanted for her birthday was to be with me. She told me to pick something I like to watch on TV and we could cuddle and watch it. There’s been a marathon of Extreme Couponing going on all week, so I turned that on and she hasn’t looked away from the screen ever since.

“She just paid eight dollars for sixteen packs of meat, that is CRAZY.” She whispers and mindlessly brings another potato chip up to her mouth. “What do you mean she can’t double her coupon?! She just doubled the last one!”

“If she can’t double it, the Excedrin won’t be free. Her husband’s gonna flip.” I mumble, and I catch myself leaning closer to the TV screen like I can’t see or something. I catch myself, though. Because leaning forward means I might crush Beth.

I almost cried when Shelby first carried her through the door. In fact, I probably would have cried if Mom and Rachel weren’t standing right there. She just looked so much bigger. Shelby put her car seat down right next to the steps and then unzipped that little pink cover she has over it and it was the first time I saw my baby in a while. It felt like the first time I saw her back when I had her; that magical feeling of just being overwhelmed with so much love.

Her hair got longer. Her blonde curls come to the middle of her forehead now, and her cheeks are much chubbier. Even as she was lying asleep in the car seat, I could see her chubby belly spilling over the waistband of her pink and white striped pants. Her pants were a little tight, I could tell by the way the rings of fat on her legs were showing through the fabric. She looked adorable as can be in her fuzzy white hoodie with the rabbit face on the front, but what really melted my heart was the way her pacifier bobbed as she sucked on it. I could have cried right then and there, could have easily woken her up to kiss her lips and squish her toes. I left her asleep, though. I couldn’t resist taking her out of the car seat so I could cuddle her, but I did find the strength within to not wake her up.

“Oh, wait. She’s just gonna do a separate transaction,” Rachel pops another chip in her mouth. “Smart move.”

“I would’ve done the same thing…” I nod my head in agreeance with Rachel, then look down at my perfect baby still sleeping on my lap.

Her cheek is all smushed against my belly and her arms are wrapped around my waist. I took her pants off because they were tight and I wanted her to be comfortable, so now her diaper is sort of riding down and her butt crack is hanging out, but it’s the cutest plumber’s crack I’ve ever seen, so. She’s even snoring a little bit, which I think she gets from Russel because he snores.

Beth’s sleeping on me, and then there’s Rachel sitting next to me with her hair all tied up and messy. She’s wearing a loose t-shirt and fuzzy pajama pants, and she washed off her makeup a little while ago, but I think she still looks pretty. She’s watching the TV and I’m watching her, and I have to admit that I’m slightly in awe that she’s a real human. Her silhouette is flawless, from the way every strand of her hair lies perfectly, to the way her nose curves down to her top lip. She is ethereal… and she takes my breath away.

The only person who could make this any more perfect is Mercedes. I have Beth, who is single-handedly the most important person in my life, then I have Rachel who is the most special person in my life, and all I’m missing is Mercedes, the closest person to me in my life. She’s downstairs watching TV with Dad. I think she thinks that me and Rachel want to be left alone and while it’s nice to be alone with Rachel after we finally worked through most of our crap, I wouldn’t mind if Mercedes was here too. She probably wouldn’t watch Extreme Couponing, though.

“Hey Rachel…” I sit up straight and gently move Beth off of me and onto my bed. She shuffles a little, especially when I roll her over so that she’s laying flat on her back instead of on her stomach, but she stays asleep for the most part.

Rachel keeps her eyes glued to the TV screen until the show cuts to a commercial. Only then does she grab another handful of chips before looking at me. “What?”

I grab my remote off the nightstand beside my bed and mute the TV. Rachel wrinkles her eyebrows at me, but she’s too busy chewing the chips to open her mouth and ask me why I did that.

“You said you wrote me a song.” I put the remote back down and busy myself with covering Beth. I lay my blanket across her chubby legs and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “In the hospital… remember?”

“Ooh god,” she grumbles with her mouth full. She twists the cap off her bottle of water and takes a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “You remembered that?”

“Of course I remembered it.” When she puts her water down, I pick it back up because I’m thirsty myself and I drank all of mine about an hour ago. I take some slow, steady sips because even water burns my throat. “Will you sing it?”

“Now?!” Her eyes grow about two sizes wider. “You want me to sing it now?!”

I nod my head, “Why not? You told me you would.”

“B-But, we’re watching TV… aren’t we? I need to know if the manager overrides her coupons…” She whines and dare I say it, but I think Rachel Berry is  _ nervous. _

“I’ll pause it, we can finish the episode after.” I grab the remote and press the “pause” button. “Come on, Rachel. Please. Please, please, please. I wanna hear it.”

“Quinn…” she sighs and sucks her teeth. “Can’t I just send you the lyrics? They’re in the notes app on my phone, I’ll send them to you.”

“No! It’s not the same as hearing you sing it!”

“But Beth is sleeping! I’ll wake her up if I sing, I’ll —“

I grab onto Beth’s chubby little hand and lift it up. When I let it go and drop it, it flops down on the bed like a lifeless rag doll’s hand, and Beth doesn’t even move a muscle. She continues to snore like she didn’t even realize someone touched her. I do it again just to prove a point.

“See? She’s out like a light, she’s not waking up.”

“Ugh!” Rachel closes her eyes and sighs really hard and really dramatic and really loud. “You’re not gonna shut up until I sing it, are you?”

“Nope,” I flash her one of those obnoxious, I-know-I’m-getting-on-your-nerves smiles, and make sure all my teeth are showing. “So you might as well sing it.”

“If I sing it, can we PLEASE finish watching Extreme Couponing?” She picks up her phone and begrudgingly unlocks it. “And will you PLEASE leave me alone?”

“Cross my heart, I will.” I hold out my pinky for her. “Pinky promise.”

She holds her pinky out and starts to interlock it with mine, but she hesitates for a second. “And pinky promise you won’t make fun of me if the lyrics are stupid. Just keep in mind that I wrote it in ten minutes while I was in the hospital waiting room, waiting to see if you died or not. So be easy on me.”

“I would never make fun of you.” I lock our pinkies together. “Ever.”

She sighs again, lighter this time, like she’s trying to shake her nerves or something. She unlocks her phone, opens up her notes app, sighs one more time, then closes her eyes like she can’t stand to look at me.

Rachel always says that she doesn’t get nervous, but I think she’s nervous right now and I can understand why. I’m not that great at writing songs, but if I were, I don’t think I’d want to sing them in front of the person I wrote them about. I think that would make me more nervous than performing in front of hundreds of people.

** _“I don’t think I’ve ever told you, I wouldn’t be me without you, no…” _ ** She starts singing very softly and it’s a tone that is absolutely beautiful, but Rachel never sings in it. She’s a belter. She usually sings higher pitched and more powerful, but this is gentle. This is… smooth. This is soft.  ** _“And I want you to know… you’re my strength and you’re my weakness, God knows what could come between us now… To try and break us down… ‘cause…”_ **

I close my eyes so I can get the full effect. She has the voice of angels…

** _“Even if the world stopped turning, you’d be in my heart still burning, keeping it beating. And as long as I’m breathing then I… will never give up on us.” _ ** She pauses and I can tell that she’s put this song to music inside of her head. She knows what it’s supposed to sound like. I wonder if it’s piano or guitar…

I shiver because I get the chills when she sings the last line of what I assume is the chorus.

** _“If you fall then I will catch you. There ain’t nothing that I wouldn’t do… do anything for you. ‘Cause you healed me, you made me better. Brick by brick, you built me from the ground… now we’re never coming down… ‘cause… I don’t think I’ve ever told you but I wouldn’t be me without you, no… no, no, no….”_ **

She takes a deep breath and I know that means she’s about to belt, which is my favorite thing ever. I love it when Rachel belts. I could listen to it for hours.

** _“Even if the world stopped turning, you’d be in my heart still burning, keeping it beating. And as long as I’m breathing, then I… will never give up on us, no…. Never give up on us. Never give up on us.”_ **

Only when she stops singing do I finally open my eyes. I have goosebumps all over my arms, chills still rolling down my spine, tears in my eyes…

_ She wrote that for me? In ten minutes? She wrote that…? Like, actually wrote that? _

“And… that’s…. all I’ve got, or whatever,” she bites her lip and looks down at her crossed legs. “It’s not that good, but it’s… it’s… yeah, how I feel…”

“Wow…” Is all I can say. She probably thinks that I think it’s horrible because my stupid brain can’t muster up any word other than “wow”, but I can’t. All I can say is wow… I’m… speechless…

“I still have to, like, work on it and change the —“

“No,” I hold my hand out to stop her. “No, don’t change a thing, don’t you dare change a single thing it’s brilliant, I…” I shake my head at her in awe. “You are incredible…”

She licks her lips and closes her eyes tight, then tilts her head back to the ceiling. I feel my eyebrow raise in curiosity.

“...What are you doing?” I ask her.

“Trying to take my mind off of you for a second, do you mind?” She keeps her eyes closed and her head tilted back and it kind of looks like she’s meditating. “We’re not together, we’re working through our issues. Not together, working through issues. Not together, working through issues. Not together, working —“

“What in the hell is your problem?”

“I want to kiss you, that’s my problem, and since I’m not your girlfriend….” She blows air out of her nostrils hard. “I’m taking my mind off you.”

“What if I wanted to kiss you too, then what?” I lick my lips the same way she just licked hers because even though we’re technically not girlfriend and girlfriend currently because we’re still working out our crap, there’s no way we’re not going to kiss. And I want my lips to be wet and ready when we do actually kiss.

“Then I’d say hurry up and do it before I combust…” She mutters.

Only when I’m scooting closer to her to close the space between us do I realize just how much I missed kissing her. We kissed in the hospital if I remember correctly, but we haven’t kissed since then and I wanted our first kiss in a while to be exactly like this. I wanted us to be comfortable with each other and kissing out of love. I wanted to get closer and closer to her and admire how beautiful her skin looks. I wanted to close my eyes and press my lips against hers and feel how soft they are. I wanted to feel that white hot electricity — that same current I felt with Bailey — only stronger. I wanted my lips to be against lips that they belong against, not lips that I settle for because I’m in such a messed up state of mind.

Kissing Rachel again is everything I needed it to be. It’s everything that kissing Bailey wasn’t. It’s right, it’s real, it’s love. It’s everything I needed it to be so I could realize why I don’t want to kiss any other lips besides Rachel’s... it’s what I needed to clear my head about kissing Bailey.

Our tongues meet somewhere in the middle and smash together like they missed each other’s presence. Rachel cups her hand against my cheek and I accidentally moan into her mouth, partly because the sucking and swallowing while we kiss hurts me, but mostly because all the feelings I have towards her are all rushing through my body. I feel alive. So much more alive than I’ve felt in a very long time.

I don’t think I ever want to stop kissing her. In fact, I don’t think I ever  _ will  _ stop kissing her…

So I’m a little relieved when two hard knocks on my open door make me and Rachel pull apart like our lips just caught on fire.

Even though I know nobody in this house will judge me for kissing a girl, I still feel like we were doing something shameful and wrong, so it’s needless to say that I hang my head when I see that it’s Mom who did the knocking. Me and Rachel don’t look at each other, but we don’t have to to know that we’re both about to pass out and die of humiliation.

“Ehem,” Mom clears her throat real dramatically like you see in the movies, but the look on her face isn’t angry or irritated. It’s… playful? “I ‘preciate you two following the open door policy in this house, but let’s try to keep it PG.”

“Sorry,” I mumble, licking my lips from the kiss and pretending to be very interested in Beth’s tiny sock.

“Sorry Mrs. Jones,” Rachel apologizes in a tone slightly louder than a whisper.

“Ain’t nothing for you to be sorry about, Rachel. You oughta be glad you kissin’ Quinn. Child’s on so many different antibiotics, one kiss’ll knock all the infectious diseases outta your body.”

Me and Rachel both laugh when she says that and in one instant, all the tension and awkwardness in the room totally just melts away. Mom rests her head against the door jamb and looks in on Beth with an easy smile. She’s clearly only interested in Beth, but it’s me and Rachel that she continues to talk to.

“Rachel, you got any nightwork that needs done before school tomorrow?” Mom asks.

“No ma’am,” Rachel shakes her head. “I finished all of it in my study hall today.”

“Mmmkay,” Mom nods. “I dunno what your night routine is like but ‘round here, Quinn and ‘Cedes is usually in bed by nine, nine-thirty.”

“Same here,” Rachel replies.

Mom and Dad are definitely starting to feel bad that these are my last few days here, because they agreed to let Rachel stay the night on a school night, AND sleep in my bed. Granted, there are so many rules that I almost had to write them all down, but still. I’m certain they only agreed because they feel bad I’m leaving here soon, and probably because they only feel bad for Rachel, too.

I told Mom about Rachel’s dads. I know it really wasn’t my place to tell her, but I kind of had to. Rachel came over really early, like immediately after school, and Mom was wondering why because she usually only comes in the late evenings. I tried to lie and tell her that Rachel just wanted to come and help me with my swallowing exercises, and it really wasn’t that big of a lie because she did help me. But then Mom wanted to know why Rachel agreed to stay through dinner when she always eats at home and I felt really bad lying to Mom, so I told her the truth. I told her that Rachel’s dads are fighting a lot and she doesn’t really want to be home and sad on her birthday and I think Mom’s big bleeding heart just opened up to her.

She said Rachel could stay on her own, I didn’t ask. I knew better than to ask. So when Mom told me that Rachel’s welcome to crash here for the night, it’s needless to say that my jaw dropped. We have to sleep with the door wide open, and there has to be a nightlight on in my room tonight and Rachel has to sleep at the bottom of the bed while I sleep at the top and there has to be a pillow between us and we have to sleep with the TV off so no noises are being masked. I think that’s it. There’s a laundry list full of rules that we have to follow, but I still think it’s pretty neat that they both agreed to let Rachel stay. I’m just glad that she doesn’t have to be in a broken home on her birthday.

“Mmmkay, so lights out at nine thirty. It’s only six now, so you got some time. I’ll come in the morning and get you up for school… maybe make some breakfast for you and ‘Cedes.” Mom continues. “Well, if you two hungry, the pepper soup is done. And Quinn, I need you downstairs right now because —“

“Can I go to school tomorrow, too?” I ask while the question is fresh on the tip of my tongue. I already know the answer will probably be no, but I really do feel like I’m ready…

“You outta your mind, child?” She laughs and shakes her head. “That’s a good one.”

“No Mom, seriously. Can I? I’m feeling so much better and I can pack leftover soup for lunch. I just wanna go back to normal… please, Mom? Please, please, please. Why can’t I just go?”

“Well, Quinn, I think —“

“Please. I wanna feel normal again, I wanna stop sitting around and thinking about how I almost died.” I poke my lip out and give her puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“I…” She sighs. “We’ll discuss it a little later, okay? Right now, I need you downstairs. The social worker’s here to talk to you.”

* * *

I’m not sure how it looks to the social worker for Beth to be all over me the way she is, but I think it’s working out in my favor. She woke up when Rachel picked her up off the bed to come downstairs so this lady can talk to me. She woke up and started crying immediately when she looked at Rachel, but Rachel reasoned that she was probably crying because she woke up in a different place than where she fell asleep, and I guess that makes sense.

Rachel picked her up and she started screaming her head off, so I thought maybe me taking her would be a bad idea since she was already cranky and she probably forgot who I was since I haven’t seen her in a while. But she took one look at me and held her arms out and screamed louder. I took her off of Rachel and as soon as she was in my arms, she put her head on my shoulder and stopped crying instantly. Rachel tried to take her again so I could talk to the social worker, but Beth screamed. She screamed when Mom tried to take her, screamed when Dad tried to take her and screamed when Mercedes tried to take her too. The only person she wants is me, and I’d be lying if I said that it doesn’t feel good.

She keeps looking up at me. Every so often, she’ll pick her head up off my chest and look at me like she’s trying to make sure I’m still there. She’ll look at me, I’ll kiss her on her little lips, then she’ll put her head back down until the next time she wants to make sure I’m still there. Like I said, I’m not sure how this looks to the social worker, but I think it looks good because she keeps smiling at Beth.

“So Lucy,” the social worker says as she opens up a file folder on her lap. “We met briefly in the hospital, I don’t know if you remember. I’m Courtney, Courtney Kirkland and I’m with Child Protective Services here in Allen County.”

“I remember,” I nod and run my fingers through Beth’s soft curls. I know it probably sounds really weird and probably even a little crazy, but I really think I can sense what Beth is thinking sometimes. It’s like she and I have this connection. Right now, as her tiny little fingers trace the curvature of my lips and chin, I can tell she’s trying to refamiliarize herself with my face and how I feel. I can tell that she missed me. “This is Beth, by the way. She’s my baby.” I introduce them just because I feel like I should.

“I can tell. She’s your little twin,” She smiles and I can see the crows feet by her eyes. She’s probably been doing this for a very long time. “Now she doesn’t live here, correct? I recall your mother saying something about adoption. Is it open?”

“Um, yeah, I guess you could say that.” I adjust the way I’m holding Beth because my arms are starting to hurt. “I watch her from time to time and we have a good relationship. She knows who I am.”

“Okay, let me just document that…” She uses her index finger to type something on an iPad. “Your mother mentioned the adoption being closed and not having any contact. When did that change?”

“Um…”  _ What is she talking about? Mom wouldn’t have said that. She knows I watch Beth…  _ “My mom said that? About the adoption being closed?”

“Yes, when we spoke in the hospital, she mentioned that part of the reason for the dissection in your relationship is because you chose adoption and —“

“Oh, you mean Judy… my mother… okay.”  _ I wasn’t aware that she and Judy talked. I wonder what they talked about.  _ “Yeah, she wasn’t happy that I chose adoption. But I think it worked out well. I’m happy.”

“That’s good to hear, Lucy,” Courtney smiles one of those very fake smiles. “So um, I just have a few questions for you in preparation for the court hearing next week if that’s okay?”

“Sure.”

“How are you feeling since being discharged? Do you feel better, worse or about the same?”

“Better. Definitely better.”

“Have you returned to school yet?”

“Not yet.”

“And Mrs. Jones is home with you during the day?”

“Yes ma’am. Mr. Jones, too. He took family leave to be home with us.”

“Mhm,” she types with her index finger again. “And how do you feel having their constant supervision? Do you feel like that helps you? Do you feel like it hinders you and your ability to regain independence? Do you like the constant reassurance of having someone in the house with you? Does it not really matter to you?”

“Um…”  _ Well she’s asking some pretty messed up questions…  _ “I think it helps me to know that I’m not always alone, actually. It does feel kind of reassuring to know that there’s someone in the house with me. I like it.”

“Okay. And who is in charge of your care while you’re here? Mrs. Jones, Mr. Jones, or do you mostly care for yourself?”

“What do you mean?” I ask before I answer because I feel like these questions could be trick questions. I don’t want to say anything that might make it that much easier for me to go back to Judy and Russel. Beth’s getting a little fussy, so I pick her pacifier up and hand it to her.

“I mean who administers your medicine, makes sure you’re following up with your doctor’s orders, makes follow up appointments, etcetera…” She explains a little better.

“Pretty much everyone. It’s kind of like a village mentality.” I shush Beth by rocking her a little and she calms down pretty easily. “Like Mom will give me my medicine in the morning, Dad will make sure I get it at night. Mom made the appointment with the nutritionist. Mercedes and Rachel both help me do my swallowing exercises.”

“And Rachel is your romantic girlfriend, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And do you feel confident that when you are placed back with your biological parents this so-called ‘village mentality’ will continue?”

“No.”  _ Easy question. Absolutely not. I’ll have to take care of myself.  _ “Rachel won’t even be allowed to step foot in my house when I go back there. And Judy’s not that hands-on to help me with my medicine.”

“Um… okay, so. Can you give me a quick rundown of how your days go here?” She looks up from her iPad.

“Like, from start to finish? With school or without school?”

“You can tell me both.”

“Well… on school days, Mom wakes me up. She wakes me up, I get dressed, me and Mercedes eat breakfast, then I drive us to school. I go to school. If it’s a Tuesday, I see my therapist in school. Then after school, I have Glee club. After Glee club, I drive me and Mercedes home. I do my homework then I take a shower. We eat dinner as a family and talk about our day. Sometimes we sit in the living room and watch TV. Then we go to bed.”

“Okay, good. And describe a day now, now that you’re not in school?”

“Um… Mom or Dad will wake me up so I can take my medicine at nine. I eat breakfast. I watch TV with Dad until lunch. Then I watch more TV with Dad after lunch or sometimes I’ll take a nap until Mercedes comes home. I do my homework that Mercedes brought me home. I take a shower. We eat dinner. I’ll hang out with Rachel or something for a little. Then I go to bed.”

“And do you feel like this steady routine helps you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she closes her iPad and smiles at me. “That’s all the questions I have for you right now, Lucy. Thank you. You can go ahead on with your night.”

“Okay,” I nod once at her then stand up.

_ I hope I did okay. I hope I didn’t say anything that’ll make her not want me to stay with the Joneses… it seems like she has her mind made up that I’m going back, but if there’s any hope in the world that I can stay here, I hope I didn’t say anything to slash it… _

I shift Beth onto my hip and head for the kitchen as the social worker stays behind to chat with Mom and Dad in the living room for a little. Mercedes and Rachel are in the kitchen together and it doesn’t sound like they’re killing each other…

I know it’s wrong to eavesdrop, but I can’t help it. I stand next to the archway that leads into the kitchen but around the corner so they can’t see me…

“I guess I just have to trust you,” Mercedes says. “I guess I just have to trust that whatever you do, you’re doing it with Quinn in mind.”

“And I guess I have to trust you, too. We both love her, Mercedes. And she loves us too.” Rachel replies and it actually sounds like they’re having a civil conversation... wow.

“You, I’m really sorry I hit you. I was just worried about her, that’s all.”

“It’s alright. I kinda deserved that,” Rachel chuckles but it’s a sad chuckle. “Just think of it as payback for trying to steal your solo.”

Mercedes laughs and I never thought I’d see the day where those two would work it out…

I don’t want to interrupt them when it seems like they’re actually getting somewhere and making peace with each other, so I walk back towards the living room to see if I can hear what Mom, Dad and the social worker are talking about next.

And all I hear between them are the words “custody” and “returning her back to her natural family is best” before I can’t listen anymore…

I can’t sit here and think about going back to that house. I… I can’t. I just want to take Beth and… run.

So I quietly put Beth inside her car seat, strap her in…

And not even Whitney or Bobby hear us when I take her and slip right out the front door.

* * *

I didn’t think I’d actually make it. I thought that I would just put Beth into the car and sit in the driveway. I didn’t think I’d actually turn the ignition and start the car and drive it.

I didn’t think we would actually end up here. I didn’t think I’d be sitting in my car, staring at the menacing cobblestone driveway that leads up to the grand staircase and the front porch. 

It looks a little different here. The driveway is still that same gray and black cobblestone, the gate is still that clunky white plastic. The yard's neatly groomed as always, but the carnations are just weeds in place of the pink flowers that bloom in the spring. That ugly yellow wreath with the honeycombs and bumblebees has been replaced by a green one with red poinsettias hanging proudly on the front door, but there's still a chunk of the gold number three that marks the address missing from the time Frannie and I kicked the soccer ball at it. It's the exact same house on the exact same street in the exact same neighborhood of the exact same city of Lima. And it feels so much different.

Beth coos in the backseat and that’s when I remember that she’s there. I didn’t think I’d actually make it here and I certainly don’t think I’ll get out of the car.

But my stomach hurts as I pull the latch to open my car door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re a super close and observant reader (like pretty much all of you are), I just want to say that yes — the third to last paragraph is the exact same paragraph Quinn used to describe the house in the very first chapter of this story. It was done intentionally to bring it all full circle. :)


	73. When You Say Nothing At All

Maybe if I didn’t have Beth with me, I’d have turned around minutes ago. Maybe if I didn’t have Beth with me, I wouldn’t have put the car in park, took the key out of the ignition, and got out. Maybe if I didn’t have Beth with me, I wouldn’t have unstrapped her from the car seat, wrapped a blanket around her chubby body, and walked up the small flight of steps that leads to the front porch I used to know so well. Maybe if I didn’t have Beth with me, I wouldn’t have rung the doorbell.

But I do have Beth with me, and every time she makes a noise and I feel her hot baby’s breath against my neck, I’m filled with so much love and I remember that I’m only doing this for her.

Snowflakes fall gently around us, and I adjust the blanket so make sure she’s fully covered and not cold. My fingers are starting to freeze and my teeth are starting to chatter, but Beth is nice and warm and to me, that’s the only thing that matters. She picks her head up from where she had it laying on my shoulder and looks at me with her pretty little eyes. I could probably make it back to my car before the door opens if I run, but I have my daughter with me and she’s watching me and she gives me all the strength I need.

If I didn’t have her with me, I would probably be weak. But with her on my hip, I’m strong.

Just as I’m about to ring the doorbell one more time, the porch light flickers on and I feel hot even though it’s freezing outside. I left so abruptly that I didn’t bother to put on my coat or any decent shoes. I have nothing but a long sleeved pajama shirt on, a pair of pajama pants, and slip-on sandals. I was standing out here freezing my ass off a second ago, but now my body is on fire and my legs are shaking but not because I’m cold.

I haven’t thought this through. It’s not like when I heard Mom and Dad talking to the social worker about me coming back here, I had the big bright idea to drive across town and show up on the front porch. I did all of this on a whim and when either Russel or Judy opens the door, I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m going to say.

The doorknob rustles as the top lock is taken off, and I hold my breath when I see it actually turning. I close my eyes to steady myself, and open them back up only when I hear the door slowly creaking open…

And then that’s it.

The Band-Aid is off, it was ripped, and it was quick and painless.

The door is open, we are face-to-face, and we both stare at each other.

She looks older, aged a bit since the last time I saw her against the clean white walls of the Fabray household. Her usually light blonde hair is town, tousled in waves that allow the gray hairs to show through. Her face is clean and makeup free, and the bags under her eyes suggest that she is tired; but not the kind of tired that sleep can cure. Her mouth hangs open in surprise and for a second, I think I can see sorrow in her blue eyes. She looks at me, head first then down to my toes. She stops breathing when she notices Beth in my arms, and her face melts with the realization of who she is.

I only break our eye contact when I glance over at Beth to make sure she’s still okay. I glance at my baby, then back at my mother, then back at Beth, then at my mother again. Our eyes meet again and she automatically knows exactly what I’m asking. And her answer is yes, because she immediately steps aside and opens the door to us.

The heat smacks me in the face as soon as I step foot inside the house, and that’s when I remember how much Judy hates being cold. In the wintertime, this house never drops below a toasty 80 degrees, and touching the thermostat is a crime punishable by death and a tongue lashing.

It’s muscle memory, the way I take my shoes off on the rug one by one. My toes sink between the plush fabric and I inhale deep, taking in the familiar scent of apples and cinnamon — the only air freshener scent Judy ever buys. It’s funny because this house is so familiar, but it feels like I hardly recognize it at all.

I feel so small between the clean white walls, absolutely minuscule when I look at the grand staircase spiraling to my left. The archways loom over my head like darkness creeping out of the closet when you’re little, and the hardwood floors seem to go on for days like the ocean. I feel like Alice in Wonderland, shrinking after eating the cake. Everything around me is growing, growing, growing. And I’m like an ant, swallowed up in the chaos.

I lock my arms around Beth as if there’s something in the water here that I don’t want to get her, then my feet wander a little deeper into the house. In the good living room, I catch a glimpse of Judy aiming the remote at the television set to turn it off. Orange flames crackle in the fireplace and I start to remember that Russel likes to feel its warmth while he’s watching TV. He must be around here somewhere.

“Can I get you something?” Judy saunters back into the hallway where me and Beth stand, adjusting the belt around the waist of her robe. “Something to eat? Or drink?” She can’t take her eyes off of Beth and I notice. “...An extra blanket for the baby?”

I don’t ignore her to be rude, I ignore her because my mind is elsewhere and I didn’t really process the question she asked me. My mind is too busy making sense of everything that’s changed since the last time I was here, which isn’t much. The place is still squeaky clean and everything is still perfectly in place. I never noticed it then, but it looks like our house is being staged for people to come in and look and decide if they want to buy it or not. It doesn’t look like people actually live here.

In fact, the only indication that this house is occupied by actual humans are the two fine china plates on the coffee table. They’re both completely empty, but red spaghetti sauce still remains and next to them, a bottle of white wine.

Judy traces my eyes to the two dinner plates and knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Daddy isn’t home,” she says like she just delivered the best news ever. She kinda did. “He ran out to grab more wine and extra firewood. He should be back in a little while if you want to wait. I can make tea if you want tea. Or sugar cookies… your favorite.”

“N-No,” I finally find my voice and tell her. I shake my head slowly as if I’m trying to avoid offending her. “We’re not staying long.” I look over at Beth once again to make sure she’s okay. And she is, actually. She’s perfectly fine. Her eyes are sparkling as she finds fascination with the glass chandelier dangling over our heads. “I just stopped by so you can meet her. I… I want her to meet her grandmother at least once.”

“Oh, Quinnie,” her jaw trembles beyond her control and her eyes fill up with thick, unshed tears. She takes a step towards me and Beth with her arms out, and I take a step back out of pure instinct. Judy gets it, though. She gets it and she doesn’t seem offended. She lowers her arms slowly and just keeps staring at Beth. “She’s so beautiful. She looks just like you when you were a baby.”

I nod my head and pull Beth’s hat off so Judy can see her best feature. Her mound of curls comes tumbling down when I take her hat off, and I use my hands to smooth them down. Judy makes a noise that’s a mix between a grunt and a sigh, and it’s loud enough to pull Beth’s attention off of the chandelier and onto her.

“Can I hold her?” Judy looks at me when she asks that question and though I knew it was coming, I never quite thought about the answer. “Quinnie, please?”

“I don’t know…” I mumble.

I take another step away from her and contemplate on putting my shoes on and leaving. I think this was a bad idea. I don’t think I thought this through very well. I just thought… I just thought that Beth should know her. I just wanted to be able to look back when Beth is older and be able to tell her that she did meet her grandmother at least once. That’s all I wanted for her. But I don’t know, I’m not so sure about this anymore…

“She’s my granddaughter…” Judy sniffs and uses the collar of her silk robe to wipe her eyes and nose. “And I love her. Look at her…”

Beth does look like her. I never really considered how important it is to be around people who look like you, you know? I just think about the first time I went to stay with the Joneses and I remember feeling like I was in the safest place in the world. It didn’t make me feel like I was out of place, didn’t make me feel like I was missing anything. Then I got closer to Rachel… and Rachel made me think. Rachel looks at her dads and she tries to see pieces of herself in both of them. Then Shelby comes along and suddenly Rachel knows where she gets it all from. I never thought about how incredibly lonely that must make you feel, to be in a family where nobody looks like you and you look like nobody. I don’t want that for Beth. I don’t want her to ever feel lonely. And I don’t want her to look back and hate me because I never, not once, introduced her to grandmother…

“She might cry,” I step closer to Judy and start to hand Beth over to her. “Um, she usually cries when anyone new holds her, but all you have to do is just pat her butt. And tell her who you are, she likes that.”

She’s gentle with the way she takes Beth from me. She puts her hands firmly under her armpits and lifts her out of my arms like she’s this fragile, breakable little creature that will shatter into a million pieces if she falls. Beth looks confused when she’s taken away from me, but she doesn’t cry. Not even when Judy adjusts her and turns her little body so that they’re facing each other.

I think she knows that she’s a part of us. I know she’s only a tiny little baby and she has a tiny little brain, but I really think that Beth is special and Beth is smart. She looks Judy in her eyes with wrinkled eyebrows like she’s trying to figure her out, but she is so perfectly content and calm in her arms that I know my baby knows who she is.

I feel weird, and it’s a good weird. I can’t really explain it, but it’s like a part of me deep down in my soul knows that this was the right thing to do. On some level, I didn’t want to share Beth. I didn’t want to share her with my family, with Shelby, with the Joneses or with Puck. I wanted her all to myself because I felt like I was the only person in this world who could protect her and keep all the bad stuff from ever touching her.

But when I see my little baby reach out with her chubby hands and touch Judy’s cheek… I know I’ve done the right thing.

“Hi, Beth…” Judy whispers through a round of tears. “Hi there, baby girl. I’m your grandma.”

* * *

**iMessage**

**Wednesday, December 18**

**7:47 p.m.**

**ME:** hey. i hope i didn’t worry anyone. please tell your parents i’m okay. beth is with me. we are safe and will be home in a little while. it’s fine if i’m grounded. i’m sorry to just leave but there was something i had to take care of. i’ll explain when i get home.

**New iMessage**

**Wednesday, December 18**

**7:52 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: ** Ok.  
  


“And this right here?” Judy smiles the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen come across her lips as she peels another Polaroid away from the book. “This is your first time you used the potty.” She hands the picture to me and I hold it out in front so Beth can see it too.

I laugh at the way she clearly tried to take the picture in a tasteful manner, but honestly failed. The color’s faded a bit since the picture is pretty old, but my golden blonde hair is still noticeable and so is the pink top of my old Barbie potty chair. I’m wearing a white t-shirt in the picture, but my bare naked butt is all exposed and I really hope she hasn’t showed this to anyone else.

“Look,” Judy points to my face in the picture. “Look how proud you were flushing the toilet.”

“Oh my god, is that  _ Marbles?!”  _ I bring the picture up closer to my face and squint my eyes to get a better view of the tiny orange fluff ball in the corner of the picture. “Oh my god, Frannie loved that cat!”

“Oh, she did!” Judy laughs one of those real hearty kind of laughs that makes your stomach sore and looks at the picture with me. “She was absolutely heartbroken when it ran away!”

“I remember that! And I hated it because it attacked me in the basement!” I laugh too and it kind of makes me wish Frannie was here to reminisce with us.

I didn’t expect to be here as long as we’ve been. It’s been almost an hour since me and Beth left the Joneses house, and I thought that I was just going to come here, let Beth and Judy and maybe even Russel meet for five seconds, then leave. But it seemed like Beth really liked Judy and then Judy asked me if I wanted to see just how much Beth looked like me as a baby and I kind of said yes. She went down into the basement and dragged out three old photo albums and before I knew it, we were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace looking at pictures of my childhood and then I just… didn’t want to leave, I guess.

“What’s this one’s story?” I peel the next picture that catches my attention off the album paper and hand it to Judy. She stares at the picture for a few moments before she opens her mouth to offer an explanation.

“This is the day we brought you home from the hospital,” she hands the picture to me so I can show Beth. “See that blanket? Your grandma Mary made that blanket for Francesca when we found out we were having a little girl.”

I stare at the picture myself and grin at the way Frannie is holding me with a really adorable toothless grin. I’m all fresh and pink in the picture without a hat on my shiny bald head. I’m sleeping in Frannie’s arms and Judy is in the background folding a pink and white crocheted blanket. Of course I recognize that blanket. I still have that blanket upstairs in my old bedroom somewhere…

“Oh, do you remember that one right there?” Judy points to the next picture of me and Frannie both looking really angry. I’m dressed in a big poofy princess dress and Frannie is wearing a baseball player uniform with dirt all over it. “The first Halloween Daddy and I let you two go off by yourselves?”

“You followed us around the block in the car, mom. Me and Frannie were so mad at you, all our friends were out by themselves, but you followed us around the block in the car. Ooh, we hated you for that!” I nudge her with my elbow. “Even daddy said we were old enough!”

“Yeah, well, there are crazy people in this world and it was dark outside. I had to make sure you two were safe.” Judy sighs, sounding a little bit sad at the good memory. She runs her fingers through my hair and looks at the last page of the album with me. “You and your sister… you two were such good girls.”

“Yeah…” I whisper and close the photo album. It’s the last one we had to look through, and it’s getting late. I’m not sure if Shelby is back and looking for Beth yet or what, but I think we should be heading back home anyway.

I never knew my mother had all those photo albums downstairs in the basement. I do remember back when we were happy — before my dad did all the cheating and before my memories were tainted with the child molesting — Judy always had a camera in her hand. She captured everything with me and Frannie. She was happy, just wanting to remember every single moment with both her girls. I always thought it was weird because I never once remembered ever seeing the pictures after she took them. It makes me wonder why she never hung any of them up around the house in place of the flowers and landscapes and fruit basket pictures.

We were happy then. We were a normal family. We went on vacations and played sports and had family reunions and ate dinner together. We went to baseball games with our dad and book club meetings with our mom. We played in the sprinklers and ate ice cream in the hammock. And every Sunday, we had a mom who made us lunch and sang songs when we got back from church. We had a mom who brushed our hair for school in the morning and packed our lunches with smiley faces drawn with jelly on our sandwiches. We had a dad who read us bedtime stories and taught us to shoot soccer balls in the backyard… 

I had a good life; a happy life. Where did it all go wrong? When did vacations and sporting events turn into cheating and secret secretary abortions? When did baseball games with dad and book club meetings with mom turn into conditional love and hands that crept underneath a child’s blanket at night? When did bedtime stories become dreaded for my sister because it meant our father would have his way with her, and when did my mom telling me she loved me turn into those same lips calling me a vile sinner for being gay?

I can’t catch the tears before they roll down my cheeks and splash onto the red leather of the photo album. Beth uses her index finger to touch the droplet of water, then she looks up at me. But I’m not looking at her… I’m looking at Judy instead…

“I love you, Mom…” I say, tears still rolling down my cheeks. “I love you so much…”

“Oh, sweetie…” Judy uses her thumb to wipe my tears and shakes her head. “I love —“

“No,” I shake my head at her and wipe my tears because even though I’m crying, it doesn’t mean that I’m weak. It doesn’t mean that I’m about to lie on her shoulder and melt into her arms and forgive her for everything she’s ever done and tell her that I can’t wait to come home next week. No. I’m crying, but I’m not weak. Beth is watching me. I’m strong for her.

“Quinnie, I’m just trying to tell you that —“

“I know, okay?” I sniff. “I know. I know you love me too. I know you do, even if you don’t always know how to show me that you do, I know you do.” I look at her, but our eyes don’t meet. She can’t make eye contact with me. Because she knows I’m right. “I have good memories of you.”

“...What?” She asks, genuinely confused.

“My memories. The ones I have of you… they’re mostly good. Not all of them, but most of them. They’re all mostly good. Those are the ones I’ll pass down to her,” I motion to Beth with my head. “I’ll tell her all the good things about you, I promise.”

She looks like she might say something, but her mouth closes just as quickly as it opened. I don’t think she knows what to say. But that’s okay, because I’m not done…

“I forgive you.”  _ I didn’t expect that to come out of my mouth… but it really feels like it’s true.  _ “I know that you love me in the best way you know how to love me, and that’s okay. It’s okay and I forgive you. I know you can’t love me any better than you do… not whenever you’re broken just like me. I know you try your best. I  _ forgive  _ you… and I know you love me… okay?”

“Quinn,” she says my name and her voice cracks. Just like me, tears roll down her cheeks too, but she doesn’t bother wiping them. “Honey, I love you so much. I love you more than you’ll ever know…” 

She reaches out and tries to touch my hair again, but I just gently dodge her. She can’t touch me right now. Because if she touches me right now, I might go soft and forgive her so much that I’ll feel bad for her and I can’t feel bad for her. Not whenever I know what I’m about to do. Not whenever I know I’m about to do what needs to be done.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” she looks at me and I can tell that she’s being genuine. And that means a lot to me, it really does. “I’m so sorry that I messed this life up. I did so many things wrong, so many things that I wish I could take back. But you and your sister… Lucy, you and your sister are the two things that I got absolutely right. You are the best things in the world. And I’m so sorry that I couldn’t have been a better mom. You deserved a better mom.”

“I have one,” I say with the clearest voice I’ve spoken in since I’ve been here. “I have a better mom. I have the kind of mom that most people can only  _ dream  _ of having; the kind of mom people write books about. She makes dinner every night, she pays SO much attention to me, she listens to me, she catches me when I fall and holds me up when I make a mistake…” I can’t help but smile when I think about her. “She dances in the kitchen with Beth…”

I look down at my baby and kiss her on the top of her head while she chews on the corner of one of the Polaroids we forgot to put back inside the photo album.

“I have a good mom,” I continue. “And they’re trying to take me away from her next week.” 

_ Here it goes… I thought handing Beth to the adoption counselor was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, then I thought signing over my rights was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, then I thought seeing Rachel kiss Finn was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do… but this? This takes the cake. But here I go… _

“Let me go,” I close my eyes when I say it, take a deep breath, then open them. “Go to the courthouse tomorrow, tell them you want the papers to terminate your rights, and let. Me. Go. Please.”

“Lucy, I’m not —“

“Please.” I close my eyes as I beg, but the tears are still coming down. “Please, mom. Please. The social worker — her name is Courtney — she’s coming here to see you and dad on Friday and when she does, please just tell her that you want your rights terminated. Please. If you love me…” I take another deep breath. “If you love me the way I know you love me, then please. Let me go. Let me be happy.”

Judy looks up at the ceiling and exhales sharply. I don’t think she knows what to say…

“I came here so she could meet you. I wanted you to see her for the first… and last time.” I hold Beth a little closer to me. “I came here to tell you that I love you and I forgive you… but this is goodbye.”

She won’t look at me. She absolutely won’t look at me, but that’s okay. All she has to do is listen...

“I want this to be easy. I want to do the right thing and then tell you goodbye and have this be easy, but it could be hard. It can be easy and you can tell them that you don’t want me anymore, or it can be hard and I can go and get myself emancipated and we can end this hating each other. I’m not coming back here, mom.” I shake my head so she knows I mean business. “I’m not coming back. I can’t live here. I cannot  _ live  _ here. Not with you and daddy. I can’t live here. And if almost dying taught me anything, it taught me that I want to live. I really, really want to live.” I wipe another stray tear. “So please let me go.”

She doesn’t look at me and doesn’t say anything and I don’t know if I’m even expecting her to say anything to be quite honest. I mean, what can you say to your child asking you to let them go? I wouldn’t know what to say either. But I think she heard me. I think she heard me loud and clear…

But maybe I’m wrong and she didn’t hear me, because all she does is turn away from me and stand up. And for a second I think that maybe me and Beth should leave. Because she just gets up from the spot we were sitting at on the floor and walks away. She usually does that when she wants to be alone so she can cry, but I’m not sure why she’d run away to cry when she already cried her eyes out in front of me.

I’m not sure if she’s going to let this be easy or if this is going to be hard, but I don’t care anymore. I know what needs to be done, I know where I need to stay, and getting emancipated probably isn’t as hard as everyone says it is. Even if it is hard, I don’t care. I’m doing what’s best for me now.

Since me and Beth are alone now, I hold her tight and stand up too, so I can put my shoes back on and her hat back on. Everyone back at home is probably worried sick about us, so I think it’s time to head out. Even though it didn’t turn out the way I hoped it would turn out, I don’t regret bringing her here. I don’t regret letting her meet her grandmother.

I thought that by coming here, I would feel —

“Quinnie?” Judy’s voice rips me from my thoughts. I turn around with Beth on my hip and see her walking slowly down the steps.

“...Yeah, mom?”

“I want her to have this,” she stands right in front of me and Beth and hands me the pink and white crocheted blanket that my grandmother made a long time ago. “I um… I waited so long to give it to her, I hoped that someday I’d have the chance.”

She holds Beth’s hand for a really long, meaningful moment. Then, she looks at me.

“I want her to have it,” she says.

* * *

When me and Beth finally walk up the front steps and I shove my key into the doorknob, my eyes are still puffy and itchy from crying, and I feel so relieved to be home.

Whitney and Bobby bark to alert everyone that we’re back, and I know I should probably be walking through the door with nerves and dread all over my conscience, but I’m the complete opposite. I know I’m probably grounded, and I’ll hand my phone and my car keys over willingly. I know I shouldn’t have left the house without telling anyone where I was going, but I had to leave and do it while I still had my nerve.

I put my keys down on the mantle and take my shoes off, and I’m still not scared when Mom stands in the hallway and looks at me with her hands on her hips.

“Where the hell did you go?!” She yells and usually when she yells, I’m a little scared. Not tonight, though. After tonight, I don’t think anything will ever scare me again.

“...I went to see my mom.” I tell her the truth very matter of factly. But I look in her eyes when I say it, and I hope that she can understand what I mean when I say that I went to see my mom. I hope that she knows exactly what I mean…

We look at each other for several moments, trying to communicate without speaking the words.  _ I went to see my mother for the last time ever _ , is what I’m saying. And when Mom’s face softens and her shoulders release the tension, I know that she knows I went to see Judy for the last time ever.

“Come here, baby,” she mumbles under her breath and walks to me with outstretched arms.

I stop her from hugging me, though. I stop her by handing her the red leather photo album.

“This is for you, mom,” I smile at her softly and sadly. “So you have some baby pictures of me.”

She smiles back at me and takes the photo album with tears in her eyes, then she finally does hug me like she intended to before I stopped her.

“I love you, kid,” she mumbles into my neck while we hug.

“Love you too.”

“We uh,” she blinks back the tears she didn’t let fall. “We waited for you before we ate dinner, so come on. We hungry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to say at the end of last chapter;;
> 
> I did not write Rachel’s song, “Never Give Up On Us.” It’s actually a song called Never Give Up On Us by Connie Talbot.


	74. Future Love

I use my index finger to plug the top when I shake the bottle, just to make sure that formula doesn’t come spraying out of the nipple. Amongst all my pillows, Beth sits at the top of my bed, and she watches me like a hawk while I mix it. I realize that she’s probably starving, Bc age she hasn’t eaten in the three hours that I’ve had her. I sort of feel like a bad mother because I haven’t fed my child, but I swear I didn’t expect to be at my old house for as long as we were. Had I known that we were going to spend an hour there, I would have packed a bottle to bring along.

I know every mother on the planet thinks their baby is special and really cute, but Beth truly is special and really cute. Even when she’s staring at me, waiting for the bottle in my hands, I can’t take how cute she is. It makes me want to pick her up and squeeze her and I wonder if Shelby feels this way all the time because it’s probably exhausting.

“So…” Rachel unties the drawstrings on her pajama pants and steps out of them. “Do you want to talk about it? Or would you rather just… you know?”

“We can talk about it.” I shrug my shoulders and hand Beth her bottle. She stuffs it in her mouth like she truly was starving waiting for it, and I can’t help but smile at her. Everything she does feels like magic to me, I don’t know.

I plop down on the bed next to Beth and pull her a little bit closer to me, just so I can cuddle her while she eats. In nothing but her t-shirt and the pair of black lace underwear that I love on her, Rachel stands in front of my mirror and brushes her hair up into a ponytail. I wonder what Mom would think if she came in the room right now, and saw that Rachel is in her underwear. I wonder if she’d say anything or if she’d just let it go. I wonder if maybe I should give Rachel a pair of shorts to sleep in, even though her sleeping in a t-shirt and underwear isn’t out of the ordinary. I just wonder if maybe we shouldn’t push the boundaries when Mom’s already been pretty chill about letting her sleep over.

“Well?” Rachel asks, swinging the curtain of her long brown hair over her shoulder to brush the tangles out of it from the other side. “Did she say anything about the interview with the social worker? Did she say anything about Beth?”

“Her interview with the social worker isn’t until Friday, so no. She didn’t say anything about that.” I shift Beth so that she’s laying down at a certain angle, because I read on a mommy blog while I was pregnant that babies can choke if they’re lying flat while they eat. “It was kind of weird, honestly. She tried to make it seem like she wasn’t staring at Beth, but she totally was. Which… okay, I understand. She’s her granddaughter and she’s pretty damn cute, so like, I would stare too. But it was awkward because she kept trying to like, hide the fact that she was staring. I dunno.”

“That’s it? She just stared?” She ties her hair into loose ponytail then pulls the blankets back on my bed. “Did she cry?”

“She did, actually, which I thought was weird. My mother doesn’t cry, Rachel.” I scoot over a little so she has more room when she gets between the sheets. “In the entire seventeen years, one month and seven days that I’ve known Judy Fabray, I can only recall her crying three times. She doesn’t cry. But she cried tonight and it made me feel weird.”

“How so?”

“I guess…” I lean back and rest my head against my headboard. “Mostly, it just made me feel uncomfortable. Because I walked into that house fully intending on being mad at her, you know? I walked in there, and my sole intention was just for her to see Beth. I was still mad at her for what happened at the hospital and stuff. But then she started crying and I started to feel bad for her when I really didn’t want to.”

“Well… do you regret it? Do you regret letting her meet Beth?” She asks. She rolls onto her side so that she’s facing me and Beth, and the way she uses her fingers to stroke Beth’s chubby cheek makes me feel like I’m living out a fantasy.

A fantasy in which I kept Beth and didn’t give her to Shelby. And it’s just a typical Wednesday night in the house, you know? We ate dinner and now it’s time for bed because Rachel and I have to go to school in the morning, and Mom and Dad are going to keep Beth like they always do until I get home. And Rachel isn’t Beth’s sister. No, Rachel is more like Beth’s other mother. Because we’re dating and we love each other and she cares about Beth just as much as I do and this is how we spend our every weeknight. We lie in bed while Beth gets her bedtime bottle and we stare at her and love on her and enjoy each other’s company. That’s my favorite fantasy.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s like I don’t think I made a mistake or anything. But then there’s also a part of me that thinks that maybe she didn’t deserve to meet Beth… and that’s selfish, I know.”

“It’s not selfish,” Rachel shakes her head and looks at me instead of Beth. “I don’t know why you feel the need to hold yourself to this ridiculously high standard, but it’s not selfish.

“What do you mean?” I wrinkle my eyebrows when I look at her.

“I mean that you treat yourself like you’re inhuman but you’re not.” She uses her free hand — the one that’s not supporting her body — to tilt Beth’s bottle up to a higher angle so she can suck out the last few drops. “You allow everybody else to be human and feel human emotions, but when it comes to yourself, you’re super hard. What if it was Frannie? What if Frannie was the one who told you she felt like it was selfish to not want your mom to meet Beth? Would you still think she’s selfish?”

“Well, no,” I start to explain myself and Rachel is dead silent so I know I have her attention. “I would totally understand if it were Frannie, but that’s different. My dad did something horrible to Frannie. She has a reason to keep her children away from Russel and Judy.”

“See? That’s what I mean. Why can’t you give yourself the same courtesy? Why hold yourself to an impossible standard if you’re not gonna hold anybody else to the same one? It doesn’t make you selfish because you want to keep Beth away from them. It makes you human.” She sits up straight and pulls Beth onto her lap to burp her since she finished her bottle. “Yeah, maybe your dad didn’t do what he did to Frannie to you, but he did other things… things that still haunt you.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” I mumble and use my thumb to wipe the remnants of formula off Beth’s chin. “It just seems stupid to me, I guess. Like maybe I should let bygones be bygones because they’re my parents. And even though she’s never really shown it, I know my mom loves me.”

“You know you can forgive her without forgetting, right?” She nudges me with her elbow once she gets Beth to burp. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because you forgive her doesn’t mean you’re forgetting everything she’s ever done. It just means that you’re done letting it control you. It means you’re done being angry about it. Same with your dad.”

I don’t say anything back to that because… well… the truth is that I don’t have anything to say at all. I don’t have anything to say because she’s right and I know she’s right and I’m letting what she just said fully sink in. It’s like when you first take your bread out of the toaster and spread butter on it. The toast doesn’t immediately get soggy. It doesn’t get soggy until the butter melts and sets into all the nooks and crannies of the bread. That’s what Rachel just said is like. It’s like spreading butter on toast and I’m letting it sink in.

I wonder if she knows just how important what she just said is to me. I wonder if she knows that she spoke to me about more than just my parents by saying that.

There’s a small part of me that wants to open my mouth and tell her that I think I need to forgive Puck, too. If I’m going along with this whole idea of forgiving people for the sake of me moving on, then I think it’s only fair that I forgive Puck for raping me too. But that part of me is small, so I’m able to ignore it and let the other part of me — the bigger part that knows I’ve done enough deep soul searching for one day — take over.

So I tuck that little tidbit about forgiveness away. I tuck it somewhere in the back of my mind where I know it’ll be safe until I decide to find it on a rainy day.

“You sure you’re gonna get enough rest for school, sleeping over here like this?” I ask her as I sweep a piece of hair away from her beautiful face.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” she nods and cradles Beth in her arms like she’s going to put her to sleep. Beth shouldn’t be tired, though. She took a nap when she first got here. “It sure beats the hell out of being home. Is it bad that I don’t even want to be in my house anymore?”

“No, I know the feeling,” I roll my eyes but not to be smart, just to let her know that I empathize with her. “I’m really sorry you had to spend your birthday here. And I’m sorry it was so crappy.”

“Who said it was crappy?” She says to me, but her attention is fully on Beth and she smiles so honestly and wide when Beth puts her hand against her cheek. “I think it was pretty great. I got to spend it with the person I care about. I couldn’t have asked for anything else, I just did NOT want to be home today.”

“What about Kurt?” I ask and I know she’s probably confused about what I mean, so I’ll explain. But I just had to ask while it was on the tip of my tongue. “Is he your Mercedes?”

“My Mercedes…?” She replies as she leans over the edge of my bed and grabs the package of Oreos we stashed away back when we were watching Extreme Couponing. She opens the package and takes one out that she can share with Beth.

“Yeah.” I grab an Oreo from the package and twist it until the top cookie pulls away from the cream. As she chews on her cookie, Rachel’s eyebrow raises like she’s silently asking me what I mean. “I just mean that…” My voice trails off becauseI have to think of how to say exactly what I want to say. “When I felt like you… like when I didn’t want to be home, I mean. I came here. Mercedes… She made me forget why I didn’t want to be home. She gave me some place safe. Is Kurt your Mercedes?”

“You know, Quinn,” she licks her lips free of cookie crumbs and swallows. “I don’t know. I know it sounds really bratty and entitled and probably even a little spoiled, but I never had to go through that. You know? Up until this, I never felt like I didn’t want to go home. I never needed a place to run to.” She’s silent for a few moments, but I know that she’s just thinking. “I guess… I guess it would be Shelby. Ever since things hit the fan with my dads, I’ve been kinda hanging out over at her house.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “Like last night, I went over and sat with her and Beth for a little. She made breakfast for dinner and I ate with her. It… it made me feel kinda sad, actually.”

“Why?” I pause on my own chewing so I can hear her as clearly as possible.

“It just made me think about what I missed out on. I have a mom who makes breakfast for dinner… and I went sixteen years without ever knowing her.” A sad kind of smile pulls at her lips, but she’s pretty efficient at wiping it away. She just takes a bite out of another cookie and starts chewing like everything is fine.

“...I’m sorry it couldn’t be me,” I whisper and I didn’t realize just how much I actually wanted to be that person for Rachel until I realized that I’m not. I wish I could’ve been there when she needed me. I wish I could have been the one she ran to. I wish I wasn’t so tied up in my own shit.

“Don’t be,” she shakes her head at me. “Sorry, I mean. Don’t be. I’m just glad that you’re okay. I don’t think I would have made it if you weren’t. With my dads and everything… I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to you, too.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “...I think I might have done it.”

“Done what?”

“Don’t make me say it, Quinn,” she rolls her eyes at me but just like I rolled my eyes at her, it’s not in the smart kind of way. In her case, it seems like she rolled them to keep herself from crying because her eyes are glossy.

I nod my head just one time and that’s all I need for her to know that I get what she was trying to say. And it’s weird, because I get why I did what I did when I did that. Tried to kill myself, I mean. I know my reasons and I can understand my reasons and rationalize my reasons and I’m able to tell myself that I should suck it up. But it’s weird because with Rachel, it mostly just makes me sad to think about her ever feeling that low. It breaks my heart to think that she could ever feel the same way I felt in those desperate moments.

“...I never thought of it that way,” she says, louder than the voice she was just talking in, but still pretty quiet. “But you just said all that stuff. About having a Mercedes and stuff. And I never thought of it that way.” She clears her throat then looks at me instead of down at Beth. “...She means a lot to you. Mercedes, I mean. She’s really important to you.”

“ _ SO  _ important, Rachel.” I can’t help smiling when I think about her. Mercedes really is my best friend and I know Rachel might not be able to understand that, but it’s okay. She doesn’t have to understand it, she just has to accept it for what it is. “You know, she’s the only person in this world that I can just look at. I can just shoot Mercedes a look and she just knows what I mean. She knows what I’m thinking, all I have to do is look. And I’ve never had that with anybody before. Ever.”

“She’s your C.C.,” Rachel half-smiles, but I don’t think she’s upset. I think she’s just taking it in.

“My what?”

“To your Hilary. She’s the C.C. to your Hilary.”

_ I forgot about Beaches… wow, me and Rachel have come a long way… we’ve come a long way from watching Beaches in her bedroom and trying to pretend like we didn’t have crushes on each other…. _

“Yeah,” I half-smile too. “Yeah, I guess she is.” I pop another piece of Oreo into my mouth and suck on it until it’s soft enough for me to swallow. “...It really did suck to see you guys arguing like that. And ur sucked to have to choose between you for that whole solo shit storm.”

“I know, I know. But you can’t keep holding that against me. I apologized…” She sighs. “But I’ll keep apologizing if you need to hear me say it. I’m sorry for doing that to you. I’m sorry for making you feel like you have to choose.”

“Yeah, that can never happen again. Okay? You can’t ever make me choose like that. Because I won’t.” I reach over and hold her hand just because I think it’s important for her to know that I do still love her even though I can’t choose. “I want you to know that I do still plan on talking to her, because she can’t hit you. She —“

“Quinn, seriously,” she squeezes my hand. “It’s fine. Trust me on this. It was just a slap. I’m sure it won’t be the last time someone slaps me, it’s not a big deal. Plus, we talked about it. It’s water under the bridge.”

“Well, yeah. Maybe. But still,” I bring her hand up to my mouth and kiss it. “She can’t hit you. Like, ever. That’s not cool. I don’t ever want to have to choose between you two, but she can’t hit you. And you can’t ever make me choose.”

“I won’t,” she promises. “Ever.”

“Good. Because I can’t. I’m not saying that you’ll lose and I’m not saying that she’ll lose. I’m saying that I can’t choose and I won’t choose. Ever. You guys are both my favorite people in the world. I love you both equally, just in different ways.”

“I know, babe,” she lies her head on my shoulder. “I know. We talked.”

“...Babe?” I say, trying my hardest to keep myself from laughing because Beth is trying to fall asleep on Rachel’s lap.

“Shut up. It slipped.” She swats me with the back of her hand and laughs and I swear to god, I feel like this moment is magic.

I never once considered if I was happy that I didn’t succeed in killing myself. I just never asked myself that question. It’s always just been something that’s been absolute and concrete, I never gave it anymore abstract thought. I mean, the fact is that I tried to kill myself by swallowing a bunch of pills. That's a fact. I didn’t succeed. Also a fact. Trying to kill myself was just another thing I could add to my ever-growing list of things that I can’t do right. Fact.

But I never thought about if I was happy to be alive or not and I can say without a shadow of doubt in my mind that at this moment… I absolutely am. I have this feeling in my gut. It’s warm and tingly and it’s kind of like that feeling of satisfaction you get when you pop a really big pimple or scratch the dry spots off your scalp. It’s the feeling of knowing that everything is going to be okay.

I’m glad I stuck around to form a relationship with my baby. I’m glad I got to know Shelby. I’m glad I got to see through a relationship with Rachel and glad I got to see myself get closer to Mercedes. I’m glad I got to learn what it’s like to lean on family for support and glad I stuck around to get to know Santana past the bitch facade she has. I’m glad I got to have a therapist as caring as Bailey. I’m glad I stuck around long enough to see that I could get better…

“Quinn?” She says my name softly because Beth’s eyes are fluttering shut as Rachel strokes her cheek.

“Yep?”

“...I wanna move to New York.”

_ Okay….?  _ I purse my lips together to stifle a laugh so that I don’t startle a very sleepy Beth, but it doesn’t really work. Instead, air comes shooting out of my clenched lips and making an even bigger noise. Beth doesn’t seem to care, though.

“Okay!” I laugh. “I’ll get right on that. I’ll look up apartments as soon as Shelby comes to get Beth, I promise!”

“Stop, I’m serious!” She swats me again. “Like after graduation next year, obviously. But I’m serious. I wanna move to New York.”

“Okay,” I agree just to indulge her little fantasy.  _ I don’t know where I want to go to college yet but New York seems like it’d be a bit much for me. I want to get the hell out of Lima for sure, but New York? Can’t we aim a little lower?  _ “Columbia’s in New York. That’s Ivy League, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “You can go to Columbia and I’ll go to NYADA. There’s Cornell, too.”

“Eh, Cornell’s  _ barely  _ Ivy League. You know, I was kinda aiming for Princeton or Yale…” I make my voice sound like I’m annoyed with her, but I’m not really. I’m just messing with her. “...But I’ll shoot for Columbia. Only for you.”

“You’re gonna love New York.” She scoots even closer to me so that we’re full on cuddling instead of the half-assed cuddles. “They have good pizza and hot dogs.”

“We’re gonna make it our mission, okay? We’re gonna try a hot dog at every vendor in the entire state.”

“So now you want me to eat meat?” She nudges me.

“Eh, we can make it cheese pizza. We’ll try a slice of cheese pizza from every pizza shop in the state. Better deal?”

“Well…” she sighs with mock dramatics. “You’re giving up Yale and Princeton for me, so… I guess I can eat a few hundred hot dogs for you. I can’t promise I’ll like them, though.”

“Everybody likes hot dogs, Rachel.” I rest my head against hers and inhale the scent of her shampoo. “Are we getting an apartment or are we going to live on our respective campuses?”

“Living on campus would be way cheaper, don’t you think?” She muses. “But then you definitely have to get into Columbia so we’ll be in the same city. I don’t know how far away Cornell is from NYADA, but I know it’s in a city called Ithaca and that just sounds like it’s in the boonies somewhere.”

“Okay, Columbia it is.” I can't stop smiling through this entire conversation. I know this probably isn’t how things are going to pan out for us, but it’s nice to dream. “Maybe we can get a really nice house on the upper east side when we graduate.”

“Ooh, or an apartment. Like one of the ones from Gossip Girl!” She gets a little too excited and Beth stirs, but she calms down pretty quickly.

“I could get down with that.” I shrug. “You sure you won’t want to move to California to do movies or something?”

“No, my heart lies in theater.” She shakes her head and yawns and now that she yawned, I realize that I’m kind of tired too. “...Do you want a baby?”

“Do you?!”  _ Honestly no, Rachel. I don’t. One was enough. I’m never going through that shit again. _

“I think a baby would be cool!” She beams. “It’ll look like Beth. But with my dark skin. Tell me you can’t see it. A little girl with olive skin and blonde hair and green eyes. She’d be so pretty…”

“Are you having it?” I raise my eyebrow at her and she laughs but I’m being dead serious. “Because I’m not. I’m not getting pregnant again.”

“Come on, Quinn! You did it once!”

“Yeah and once was enough! You wait, you’ll see. Once the pains start shooting in your ASS, you’ll see!”

“In your  _ butt? _ Babies don’t come out of your butt, they —“

“YEAH I THOUGHT THE SAME THING, YET THERE I WAS WITH PAINS IN MY ASS.” I yell a little loud and thank god Beth is a heavy sleeper like me. Rachel’s laughing but I am being so freaking serious about this. This is nothing to joke around with. “Rachel, it feels like you’re literally shitting out a knife.  _ Sideways. _ ”

“So… it doesn’t hurt your hoo-ha? It hurts your butt?” She tilts her head.

“It hurts everything! It hurts your ass, it hurts your vag, it hurts your stomach, it hurts your throat from screaming so much… that shit is ridiculous. Nothing in this world should hurt that much. And I did all of it for NOTHING. I took home NOTHING.” I look over at the way my little baby is sleeping on Rachel’s chest and I can’t lie. She was so worth it. “That’s why I’m glad Shelby does let me see her. For all that pain I went through, I’d better get  _ something  _ out of it.”

“So… no baby?” Rachel pokes her lip out.

“Hey, I’m all for it! I’m all for having a miniature Rachel Berry that I can love and kiss and nurture. I’ll even supply the egg, honestly. But it’s not coming out of me. I refuse.”

“Okay, deal. We’ll take your egg and pick a sperm donor that looks like me. I’ll birth the kid.” She rolls her eyes at me and if this ever does come true, I’m going to remember this conversation when we’re in the delivery room and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs because her butt hurts so bad. She agreed to this and acted like it’s not that bad. I will remember this day.

“Are we having a boy or girl?” I yawn.

“A girl, of course.” She yawns too since yawning is contagious. “Her name’s going to be Eleanor.”

“Eleanor? Really, Rachel? We’re not naming our baby Eleanor.”

“We could call her Ellie for short!”

“Eleanor is gross.” I shake my head at her.

“Well what were you going to name Beth? I know you had something picked out your whole pregnancy, you didn’t just not look at baby names… did you?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I tried not to get too attached because I just kinda knew that I wasn’t going to keep her.” I brush my baby’s blonde curls away from her face and smile at the way she’s snoring very softly. “...I liked Nora, I guess. Or Vada.”

“Like the little girl from My Girl?”

“Yeah, like her,” I nod. “I watched My Girl for the first time with Puck’s mom while I was staying there and I liked her name. I always thought I’d name her Vada if I was going to keep her.”

“Vada,” Rachel tries it out. “Vada…. Vada. Vada Berry-Fabray. Or Fabray-Berry.”

“I don’t care which comes first,” I shrug again. “....I do have a request for her middle name, though.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“I would like for it to be Patrice.”

Rachel smiles so wide that her cheeks probably hurt. “I love it. Vada Patrice Berry-Fabray.”

“I can’t believe we’re naming our fictional kids…” I look over at her even though we’re both super tired. “...I can’t believe I’m actually looking forward to my future.”

“I can’t believe I get to plan a future with you.” She smiles and leans in and I can’t really remember the last time I kissed Rachel. I mean really kissed her, like deeply. My throat’s been too sore to really make out with her and before my throat became sore, we weren’t exactly on speaking terms. I can’t remember the last time I kissed her…

But it doesn’t seem like this time will be the last time either, because just as our lips are about to touch —

“Quinn! Rachel!” Mom screams from downstairs. “Shelby’s here to get Beth!”

…and I’m beginning to think Mom can just sense when me and Rachel are about to do something.

* * *

“She just fell asleep about ten minutes ago,” Rachel explains as she hands my sleeping baby over to Shelby. “Quinn gave her a bottle before she fell asleep, so she should be good for a while. She should go home and be asleep for the night.”

“How big was the bottle?” Shelby asks as she kneels down on the floor to strap my baby into her car seat. “Like how many ounces?”

“Eight,” I reply as I help by shoving all of Beth’s things back into the diaper bag. “With two tablespoons of rice cereal added. She ate the whole thing.”

“Oh, that’s my big girl,” Shelby leans into the car seat and kisses Beth’s forehead before she zips the cover up. “Did she have any table food while she was here?”

“Mercedes’ mom gave her pieces of biscuit dipped in soup at dinner,” Rachel answers since I’m busy trying to organize the diaper bag to fit everything inside of it. “She didn’t eat too much of it, though.”

“Okay, okay, good. Did she poop at all while she was here? She hasn’t gone for me since yesterday and I’m wondering if maybe I should get her some kind of medicine or something, I dunno.” Shelby mumbles and picks the car seat up.

“She didn’t go for me,” I hand her the diaper bag since it’s fully stocked and ready to go. “But she seemed okay, so.”

“She’s probably okay. I just worry too much, probably.” She takes a few steps towards the door. “Okay, so I’ve got everything?”

“Yep, that’s everything,” I fold my arms across my chest to watch them off.

“Thanks again, Quinn. You’re the best.” She gives me an awkward side-hug sort of thing and I side-hug her right back. “And Rachel… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Kay,” Rachel nods and gives her a thumbs up.

“Happy birthday again, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom,” she smiles when she says that and even though she’s trying to be calm and collected, I can tell that hearing her mom tell her that she loves her meant something special to Rachel. I can tell by the way she glows after Shelby says it.

“Okay. Goodnight, girls,” Shelby waves at us as she opens the door to let herself out.

Rachel heads back up the stairs and I start to follow her because I feel like I might do something that will get me into trouble if I don’t immediately follow her and go back upstairs. But on the other hand…

I feel like Shelby should know. I feel like the adult thing for me to do would be to tell her because as much as she feels like my child, Beth isn’t. She’s my baby biologically but she’s not my baby legally. Shelby’s her mom and she deserves to know everything that goes on while Beth is with me. So even though I know that Shelby will most likely be mad when I tell her…

I know I have to tell her anyway.

“Go ahead and get ready for bed,” I mumble up the steps to Rachel. “I’ll be up in a minute, I forgot to give Shelby something.”

“Okay,” Rachel nods and goes all the way up the steps while I head for the door.

I yank it open and I’m able to catch Shelby just as she’s putting Beth’s car seat into the car.

“Hey,” I call after her as I run down the steps in my cloth slippers. There’s a little bit of snow on the ground, so my feet are getting wet. But I didn’t have enough time to put on shoes. If I had put on shoes, I might have missed them and I think it’s important for Shelby to hear this from me right now and in person. “Hey Shelby, wait!”

“Quinn?” She looks up. She uses her hip to close the car door and walks a little closer like she’s meeting me halfway. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine, I just…” I take a deep breath before I come clean. “I wanted to tell you that I took Beth to meet my mom tonight.”

Her face changes and melts into a different expression, but I can’t really tell what it is. It seems like a mix between confusion and shock, but maybe there’s a little bit of anger in there too if I look hard enough.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize with as much sincerity in my voice that I could muster. “I’m really, really sorry and if you decide that you don’t trust me with Beth anymore then I understand. I know I should have asked you first… before I just took her over there, but I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking and I acted on impulse and I’m sorry.” I run my fingers along the soft yarn and sigh before I hand it over. “But I’d like for her to keep this if that’s okay. It’s a blanket that my mom wanted her to have. My grandma made it. It’s been in my family for years.”

Shelby takes the blanket from me slowly and her face changes expressions again as she looks at it. Maybe the anger has melted away, but I still can’t tell for sure.

“...Of course she can have it,” she smiles at me like she truly understands. “I think it’s a beautiful gesture, thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You’re welcome,” I look down at the ground because eye contact is too hard when I know I’ve done something wrong. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you again.”

“It’s okay,” she says, but I can tell by her tone that she means it’s only okay this one time. I can tell by her tone that I’d better not do that again. “I’m glad she got to meet her grandma. But next time, just —“

“There won’t be a next time,” I assure her and finally look her in the eyes. “This was the one and only time.”

She looks at me with a deep understanding in her eyes and I think that maybe Shelby is the second person in the world to understand me like that. I used to think that Mercedes was the only person I could communicate with through looks, but now I think Shelby is one of them too.

“...Okay,” she nods once and pats my shoulder. “Thank you for telling me. Thank you for —“

“She calls me ‘mama’.” I spit that one out there too while I still have the courage to tell her about all the things I’ve done wrong and the lines I’ve crossed with Beth. “Sometimes. Sometimes when we’re together, she calls me ‘mama.’ Rachel taught her that, not me. But she does call me that.”

Shelby closes her eyes for a few moments and looks up like she’s looking up at the moon, but I’ve dealt with Rachel long enough to know that when they do that — look off into space, I mean — they’re trying to compose themselves.

“I’m sorry if that’s out of line or not what you want or whatever,” I keep up with the genuine apologizes. “And I won’t be upset if you don’t want her to call me that. I’ll understand. But… if you don’t mind… I’d like for her to call me  _ something. _ ”

She looks at me with unshed tears in her eyes and I don’t think they’re tears of sadness or anything. I think they’re tears of frustration.

“I don’t want to be ‘Quinn’ to her,” I continue since I’m still feeling brave. “I don’t have to be mama, but I would like to be something. I… I don’t think I’m able to just be ‘Quinn’ to her.”

She takes a deep breath and again, smiles at me. Her smile is tight, almost like it’s forced but it’s enough for me to know that she’s not very angry. At least not angry in the way that makes me feel like she’ll take Beth away and never let me see her again.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” She pats my shoulder again. “We’ll figure out what she can call you. Together.”


	75. Welcome To Wherever You Are

I only wake up because I feel the bed move when Rachel gets out of it. I usually sleep like a log through everything, and when Mom comes in to wake me up for school in the morning, she usually has to put her hands on my back and physically shake me. It’s weird that I wake up as soon as I feel Rachel get up, though.

I don’t know what I was expecting when we slept together, but it wasn’t anything like last night. I guess I was trying to base my thoughts off what sleeping with her has been like in the past, and both experiences are really nothing to compare to. We slept in the same bed the night of my sleepover, and we were both so exhausted after having sex in the shower that we both just kinda passed out when our heads hit the pillow. Then, when we slept together in the hotel at sectionals, it was right after we had sex for the first time, and we kind of slept close, snuggled up into each other back then.

  
Last night was more natural, if I can say the least. Last night, she slept on her side of the bed and I slept on mine. Sometimes, we’d wander into each other’s territory when we stirred and changed positions in our sleep, but for the most part, we stayed separate and during the times where we did wander, we adjusted and kept to ourselves. Maybe last night wasn’t what I expected when I slept with Rachel. Maybe I was expecting us to lie close together with our hands interlocked and our legs intertwined. Maybe I was expecting it to be like everything you see on TV and in the movies.

But last night seemed like it was a glimpse into my future, like maybe the way we slept last night is the way we’ll sleep when we’re older and married and still loving each other.

“Go back to sleep,” she whispers to me after silencing the alarm on her phone. I feel the palm of her hand resting against my cheek, and a sleepy grin tugs at my lips when I feel the tips of her fingers gliding through my hair.

Yawning, I roll onto my side from my stomach and stretch out my legs when I face her. She climbs out of my bed and softly pads over to the bag beside my dresser, which she packed her clothes in. It takes a moment for my vision to clear of that hazy post-sleeping fog, but I can see her — in nothing but her baggy t-shirt and black underwear — kneeling so she can rummage through the bag of her things.

“Don’t you wish we could just lie in bed all day?” I mumble, still waking up. “Just you and me, all day, doing nothing.”

“Watching Extreme Couponing?” she giggles and unfolds her black skirt.

“You’ve got the right idea.” I sit up and smooth my tangled and unruly bed-hair back. “Why don’t you just come back to bed?”

“Because my dads would kill me for starters,” she wiggles her shirt up onto her hips and fastens the gold buttons down the side. “You don’t understand. I narrowly avoided being killed while you were in the hospital.”

“You did?”

“I’ve never seen either one of my dads  _ that angry. _ ” She turns so her back is facing me and she takes off her t-shirt to put on her bra. I wonder if she’s being so modest and secretive and private because she knows my parents are in the house. Because I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen Rachel topless before. “They threatened me and everything. I’m not sure how I’m still living, to be honest.”

“They threatened you?!”  _ Her dads don’t seem the type. Both of them seem so gentle… I don’t believe it.  _ “What’d they say? Why’d they threaten you for?!”

“Because I wouldn’t leave!” She tugs her ponytail out of the maroon sweater she puts on and adjusts it so that it’s tucked neatly into her skirt. “They told me not to leave the house and go to the hospital in the first place, so while you were at the hospital here in Lima first, I kept calling Mercedes for updates. Then she said they life-flighted you to Dayton and I took the keys and left. They called me the entire time I was driving up the highway and I ignored them until I got there. When I called back, my dad told me that I was dead… deader than dead.”

“Why didn’t you just go home?! I’m sure they would have let you come up the next day or something! Why’d you go that night even when they told you not to?!”

“Gee, I dunno, Quinn,” she sits down on the edge of my bed so she can work her legs into the sheer black tights she’s putting on. “Maybe because I thought you were dying and I didn’t care that I was in trouble?”

“So like, are you grounded?” I scoot closer to her and reach out so that I can untie her ponytail. “Or are they just letting you go?”

“I don’t really know honestly,” she shrugs. “I think I’m probably grounded, but it’s weird because it’s not really being enforced. Like if I had asked to stay the night here last night, they probably would have said no. But I didn’t ask. I just went home, got some clothes and said I was staying at your house. End of discussion.”

“Rachel…” I gasp, not because I think she’s being anything more than a rebellious teenager, but because she’s not being… Rachel. Rachel would NEVER disobey her dads. She would NEVER do anything against their wishes and she would most certainly never just go anywhere without their permission. She’s acting out… and I want to stop her and tell her that it’s going to be okay with her dads and that she needs to just relax and work through it all without being a rebellious kid, but how can I say that if I don’t practice what I preach? 

So I say nothing instead.

“It’s kind of weird to say and I feel kind of ashamed to admit it, but…” she pauses everything for a moment; pauses speaking, pauses rolling her tights onto her legs, pauses moving. “...I kind of like it,” she whispers.

“Yeah, but Rachel, you shouldn’t —“

“Look, I know, okay?” She stands up and finishes dressing herself except for her shoes. “I know I shouldn’t be doing… whatever. I know it’s bad. I know. But it kind of helps to get my mind off it and I don’t need you to tell me how terrible I’m being.”

_ It’s too early to argue… and I can’t really give her any advice and tell her how she should and shouldn’t be acting. I mean, who am I to tell her what to feel and how to deal with it? Who am I to tell her that she’s being irrational and that her dads will work everything out? I don’t want to make her feel like she can’t confide in me. I don’t want to make her feel like I don’t understand her and don’t care. _

“Okay,” I mumble and stand up as well.

“Okay?” She raises her eyebrow at me.

“Yeah,” I shrug my shoulders and grab the brush off my dresser. “Let me do your hair today.”

“You want to do my hair…?” She looks at me like I just spoke a totally different language to her and it makes me want to laugh. “Like… style it? Why…?”

“Just sit down,” I put my hand on her shoulder and make her sit back down on the edge of my bed. “Anything interesting happening today in school?”

“Not really,” she shakes her head and I gently yank on her hair to remind her to be still. She huffs when I pull her hair, though. “I guess we’re working on stuff for nationals in Glee Club, but that’s about it. And we have that fire prevention assembly in fifth period.”

“That boring one where they just put the PowerPoint on for an hour and let us basically go to sleep?” I brush her bangs back and away from her forehead. “That assembly?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“I always go to sleep. It never fails.” I use the brush to make her hair as smooth as possible, then tie it back in a low ponytail. “Me and Mercedes lay on each other and are usually knocked out within the first ten minutes.”

“I know,” she laughs. “Remember the drinking and driving assembly we had during the first week of school? I was laying on Finn and then the next thing I know, boom. Sleep.”

I wince at the mention of Finn’s name, and I’m pretty sure she notices. Her laughter stops all at once when she realizes what she just said, and silence falls deaf between us. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to a point where I can hear Finn’s name and not feel like I want to throw up. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think of him and not picture the way he got to kiss her before me and love her longer than me. Maybe someday I’ll be okay with him and Rachel’s past together. But that day is not today.

“Sorry,” she mutters and looks down. She pretends to be really interested in a ball of lint stuck to her sweater, but I know better. I know that she feels bad for saying what she said.

“It’s okay,” I rub her shoulder then fix a loose strand of her hair that I missed out on putting in the ponytail.  _ I don’t know if I really want to know the answer to the question I’m about to ask her… but I have to ask it. I HAVE to know.  _ “Rachel?”

“What?” She stands up since I’m done with her hair and goes back to her bag in search of her toothbrush.

“Can I ask you something?” I sit down to prepare myself. “And you have to tell the truth. No matter what, you have to.”

“Of course I’ll tell you the truth,” she puts her toothbrush down and starts to pack her nightclothes back into the bag. “Ask me anything.”

“....Did you have sex with him?” As soon as the words roll off my tongue, I immediately regret asking. My stomach starts to ache and my palms are a little sweaty.

Rachel freezes in the middle of packing her clothes away. Her back is turned toward me, so I can’t see her face. But I know for a fact that she’s pale right now and probably has the look of sheer terror painted on her face. Her shoulders slouch when she takes a breath, and I already know my answer just based off that.

My stomach hurts a little more. And for some reason, I feel like crying. I feel like lying down with my head on my pillow and pulling the blankets over my head so I can cry, and I know it’s weird of me to feel that way. I know I have no right to feel that way because what Rachel did before we started dating isn’t my business. But still… I kind of wish I was the only one who had the honor of making love to her. It seems silly, I know. But I can’t help thinking about the fact that she’s the only person who ever made love to me. So why can’t I be the same?

“That’s not important, Quinn.” She zips her bag and grabs her toothbrush before standing up. “I’ll be back, I’m gonna go brush my teeth.”

“You said that you’d answer! You said that you’d tell the truth!”

“Yeah, but that’s a stupid question! Ask me something important, not something stupid. That’s the stupidest question I’ve ever heard.”

“Doesn’t matter, you said you would answer it.” I sigh hard, trying my best to brush away the sadness I actually feel from knowing my answer. “You did, huh? I kinda figured.”

“You didn’t figure anything because it didn’t happen,” she kind of snaps at me which really takes me aback. “Why do you want to know this stuff for? Huh, Quinn? What does it even matter?”

“It’s the same reason you wanted details on me and Santana when I told you what we did. It’s the same thing. I just need to know.”

“No, okay?” She rolls her eyes at me.

“No?”

“No. I didn’t have sex with Finn. Can you let it go now?”

“I know when you’re lying to me, Rachel.” I roll my eyes right back at her. “You can’t look me in my eye when you’re lying to me. And you get super defensive, too.”

“Except I’m not lying,” she laughs in that real sarcastic kind of way and as much as I feel like crying, I equally feel like I want to punch her. “I did not have sex with Finn.”

“Did you do anything sexual at all with him, though?”

“Oh my god, Quinn! Does it matter?! It’s in the past!” She keeps her hand on the door jamb like she wants to leave but I’m physically keeping her hostage or something. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?!”

“You know about me!” I feel like a seven-year-old with the way I just said that with so much whiny-ness behind it. “You know everything! But now you won’t tell me about you? That’s not fair, Rachel.”

“Oh my GOD, fine!” She sucks her teeth and throws her head up to the sky. “It was just stupid stuff that we did. Okay?”

“Stupid stuff like what?”

“You know…” she looks down at the floor and her cheeks are flushed, so I can tell she’s probably just embarrassed to admit. “Stupid stuff. Stuff that doesn’t really count.

“So… what? You two went down on each other and you don’t think it counts?” I can feel the anger bubbling inside of me, but I do a pretty decent job keeping it at bay because I don’t think this needs to be an argument between us. I think we can discuss this calmly and rationally. “You don’t think sucking him off is worth telling me about?!”

“I mean, of course I would tell you if that’s actually what I did,” she laughs in that sarcastic way again and she’s really getting on my nerves. “You think you just have it all figured out.”

“Then what did you do?! If that’s not what you meant, then what did you mean?! Enlighten me.”

“Use your frickin’ imagination. You have it all figured out already, so just go with what you think. That’s how little what me and Finn ever did matters to me.”

“Okay, but it matters to  _ ME _ , Rachel! It might not matter to you, but it matters to me. How would you feel if I told you that I did something with Finn, too? Back when we dated?” As soon as I say that, her face changes. She looks deeply uncomfortable now, and I know that I’ve got her right where I want her. “And I did something with Mercedes, too?”

“Mercedes?!” Her eyes get so wide that they basically pop out of her head. “You did WHAT?! Quinn, I will KILL you. Don’t joke with me like that. I will HURT you, physically! That’s not funny! You know how I feel about her, you know I have to basically fight her for everything! And I had to fight her for you in the hospital! That’s not funny, that’s CRUEL! You did something with her?! You —“

“No, I didn’t. But how would you feel if I did and I didn’t tell you?! It’s the same thing! I just want to know!”

  
“That’s not even funny! That’s not even close to being funny, you can’t joke with me like that! You —“

“So tell me what you and Finn did.” I interrupt her with my matter-of-fact kind of tone. “If it wasn’t oral, then what was it?”

“It  _ was  _ oral…” she mumbles and I spring up off my bed in complete disbelief.

“WHAT?! So you lied?! You —“

“I didn’t lie! It wasn’t me who did it, it was… the other way around. It —“

“So he went down on YOU. Great,” I roll my eyes up to the ceiling and fight off the urge to cry again.  _ I really do have Finn’s sloppy seconds…  _ “Jesus Christ…” I whisper to myself.

“Quinn,” she sighs and rubs her hands along her face. “It wasn’t anything though, okay? It wasn’t fun, I felt uncomfortable, and he wasn’t… you know… good at it.”

“Oh, he wasn’t? Gee, thanks for that mental image.”

“Well you wanted to know!” She throws her hands up. “It was bad.  _ Really bad.  _ But I thought it was okay. I thought it was good.”

“You can just stop now.”

“No, let me explain,” she walks over to me and grabs onto my hands. “I thought it was okay. Like I know some girls don’t like it and so I thought I was just one of those girls, you know? Because it didn’t feel great and I wasn’t crazy about it. So I just assumed that I was one of those girls who preferred not to have that going on down there. But then you came along. And you did it. And then I realized that it wasn’t me. I realized that it was him and he just really sucked at it. Because you did it and it was life changing.”

“So you didn’t do it back? You didn’t do it to him, too?”

“No, God, no,” she shakes her head fast. “He tried to get me to. He tried to pull that whole ‘I did it so now it’s your turn’ but i was just like… no. That’s not who I am. I couldn’t do it. The whole idea made me want to throw up. He made me feel like I was an uptight prude or something and I guess maybe I thought I was too. Uptight and stuff, I mean. I thought I was just someone too shy to have sex. And I was tired of feeling like that, so we were making out one day and he tried to go further so I just let him. And one thing led to another and it led to that.” She strokes my hands. “I’m not a prude, by the way. I just wasn’t sexually attracted to him and it took me forever to realize that I’m only sexually attracted to you.”

_ I hate how she can do this to me. She can make me so angry one minute and then feel like I’m floating on cloud nine the next. She knows exactly what to say to make me feel like I can’t afford to lose her and knows exactly how to make me feel like I’m wanted by her. God, she’s mesmerizing. She knows just how to make me realize what’s worth fighting for and what’s not… _

“So,” I smirk at her and shake my hands free from her grasp. “Are you telling me that I’m good?”

“I’m telling you that having sex with you made me realize why I hated being sexual with Finn,” she mumbles, but grins back at me. “And I’m telling you that I love you.”

“So… yes? I’m good in bed?” I frame my face with my hands just to make her laugh and I’m successful because she laughs hard and loud and it makes me forget that it’s six in the morning. She grabs my hands again and I know we’re about to kiss.

I forget that it’s six in the morning for only five seconds, though. Because seconds later, Mom appears in the doorway of my bedroom and for the first time since she’s been catching me and Rachel being physical together, I don’t feel the overwhelming need to stop touching Rachel. I feel like I’m able to keep my hands interlocked with hers.

“I was just comin’ to make sure you was up for school, Rachel,” Mom says. “But then I heard that laughing and I figured you was both up.”

“I’m almost ready, Mrs. Jones.” Rachel replies, using her best fake polite voice. “Just have to brush my teeth.”

“Mmkay,” Mom nods once and looks at both me and her. “Quinn?”

“Yeah, mom?”

“Why ain’t you getting ready for school?”

“I’m not…” I start but as soon as I start to speak, I realize what she’s trying to say. She winks at me in a playful way and heads away from the door, leaving me to get dressed and ready.

I can’t believe she’s letting me go back to school today.

* * *

Let me just say right off the bat that I know it kind of makes me sound like a brat, so I apologize in advance. But I’m a little bit disappointed in everyone’s reaction to me coming back to school… or lack thereof, shall I say. I wasn’t expecting everyone to roll out the red carpet and play trumpets to announce my arrival, but I was kind of expecting something a little more than what I’ve gotten.

I hope it doesn’t make me sound like a horrible person, but I kind of wish it was the old days when I would strut around in my Cheerios uniform and the crowds in the hallway would part like the Red Sea to make way for the one and only, Queen Quinn Fabray. I’ve been out of school for over a week and nobody’s even batted an eyelash acknowledging that I’m back. In fact, I think someone might have bumped into me and stepped on my foot while I was at my locker after breakfast. It would be the only way to explain the large gray scuff on the toe of my white heels.

That’s right. I even wore heels today because I was so sure that people would be staring, and I wanted to look my absolute best. I dug deep into my closet and found my powder blue blazer, and thought that it would look nice if I wore it buttoned up over my favorite white lace tank top. My skirt is dark brown with light brown swirly patterns all over it and my heels aren’t extremely high, but they’re high enough to make a statement. I even let Rachel use the wand to put a few curls in my hair.

I saw it all in my head before I even walked through the double doors.  _ Hello everyone _ , I would say.  _ Yes it is me, Quinn Fabray. I am back and ready to grace the halls of McKinley High with my presence again. What’s that, you say? You heard I was hospitalized? Well, yes. The rumors are true. I was saved from certain death by one Mercedes Jones. Yes, I know I’m the strongest girl you know. Yes, I know I am an inspiration to you all. Now please, make room for me. I mustn’t be late to my first period. _

You see? I had it all planned out in my head, I knew exactly how the whole thing was going to go down. I even rehearsed for the way I’d smile when everyone was chanting my name.  _ Shoulders back, eyes up and chin to the ceiling. Smile wide enough to show teeth, but not so wide that your eyes crinkle at the corners. Quinn! Quinn! Quinn! Quinn! Quinn!  _ Everyone would chant and I would just wave.

Yeah, I had high hopes.

Okay so maybe I was expecting something a little dramatic. Maybe I was expecting a little too much. But shouldn’t they be saying  _ something… _ ? Anything? Surely they noticed that I was gone for an entire week and a half… didn’t they?

With my chemistry book in tow, I round the corner to my first period classroom and settle in to my empty seat near the front of the classroom. The rest of the class filters in around me and since I sit at the front of the classroom, I can’t really see their eyes on me. I can’t feel them staring at me either, so I’m not surprised when I do look up and find that everyone is acting as though it’s a normal day. Even Mercedes, who sits a few rows away from me, just opens up her book to the current chapter and flips to a clean sheet of notebook paper.

I haven’t even gotten a warm welcome back from Tina or Santana. Mercedes and Rachel didn’t even stay with me in the cafeteria at breakfast. Mercedes rushed off to the library to go print her English paper off and Rachel had to go to the choir room and do something for Mr. Shue. I guess Santana was late today because I didn’t see her in the cafeteria, but I saw her coming out of the office with a tardy slip as I was walking to my locker and I waved at her but she didn’t wave back. Tina wasn’t in the cafeteria for breakfast either. I know it sounds a little whiny and needy for a seventeen-year-old to feel this way, but I kind of wish they would make a bigger deal about me coming back. It feels like my friends don’t care about me and maybe they’re just trying to let me ease back into things, but I was kind of looking forward to the attention just a little bit.

The door shuts, so I know that class is about to start and while I am still a little bit bummed about the fact that nobody is reacting to me being here today, I am mostly just glad to be back in school and learning. So I follow Mercedes’ lead and flip to chapter 12 of the book.

“Good morning, guys. Now we have our fire prevention assembly this afternoon and our periods are slightly shortened and we don’t have much time, so I’m just going to jump right in. Now if you recall from yesterday, we started talking about carbon chains. And the thing we learned about just before wrapping up yesterday is that when carbons have long chains, they have very low reactivity,” Mrs. Odenthal starts her teaching for the day and to my surprise, I’m not completely lost in the lesson. I know what she’s talking about.

While she waits for us to write down the notes she has pulled up on the whiteboard, Mrs. Odenthal takes a sip of coffee from her red thermos and looks at me with a soft grin. She raises her eyebrows at me like she’s saying “hello”, and I just smile back. 

And that’s the extent of her “welcome back” to me.

* * *

**New iMessage**

**Thursday, December 19**

**2:55 p.m.**

**RACHEL: ** Where are you?

**RACHEL: ** You didn’t forget about glee club did you?

**ME: ** hallway. watson took us to the computer lab for last period, so i have to walk up from the basement. i’m on my way.

**RACHEL: ** Okay! I was going to wait for you at your locker so I was jw. I’m going to head to the choir room now though. I’ll save you a seat.   
  


**ME: **okay.

I stuff my phone into the pocket of my blazer and use the railing to guide myself up the stairs. I would never admit this to anyone, but I don’t think I was ready to come back to school.

Aside from being moderately disappointed that virtually none of my friends cared about me coming back to school today, I had a really busy day and even with me using the fire assembly to rest and take a nap, I still ended up finishing out my day being exhausted and wishing I had my pain medicine that I had to leave at home.

I sat with Rachel, Tina, Santana, Brittany and Mercedes at lunch today and everyone was eating the rigatoni that the cafeteria served today except for me. I tried to take one bite out of it, but the red sauce made my throat burn so bad that I almost started crying in front of everyone. I played it off like I just wasn’t all that hungry, but Mercedes shot me a really weird look, so I tried to calm her nerves drinking some iced tea. The iced tea burned really bad too when all I’ve been drinking is chocolate milk and water at home lately. The iced tea burned so bad that my eyes watered, but I didn’t want Mercedes to go home and tell Mom that I didn’t eat my lunch. If Mom hears that I didn’t eat, she’ll hold me down and force food down my throat and I’m not in the mood for that, so I knuckled down and powered through the iced tea just to keep Mercedes at bay.

I still have glee club left to get through and all I want to do is go home. I’m really tired, I’m really hungry, I’m in a lot of pain and I don’t think I’ll be able to sing anyway. If I wasn’t responsible for getting both Mercedes and Rachel home after glee club, I would just take my keys and go home so I can eat some of Mom’s potato soup and drink my chocolate milk. I would go home and take a warm shower and go straight to bed.

But instead, I’m stuck playing chauffeur for my girlfriend and my best friend, so instead of going home, I’m opening up my locker and shoving my books inside so I can go to the choir room.

And I usually have a very strict rule against drinking from the water fountains in school because I find it to be disgusting and unsanitary, but water and milk are the only two things that don’t hurt, and since I don’t have access to milk…

I pin my hair back with my hand and lean down as I press the button with my torso. The water sprouts up into the air and I take a few long sips. Believe it or not, the water feels really good running down my throat. There’s no sugar in it to burn me and no acid to make me want to cry. It’s just pure, clean, filtered water and it feels like a full course dinner to my empty stomach right now.

I could probably stand here and drink every drop of water this fountain has to offer, but I don’t want to be late to glee club on my first day back, so I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and head off in the direction of the choir room.

And I’m a few paces away from the door when I stop in my tracks because I see them walking in my direction, totally lost and wrapped up in one another.

At first it kind of scares me to see him, because I sort of forgot about him. For one marvelous week, I forgot that he existed and forgot that he was something else on my list of things that I have to deal with. He hasn’t been in the back of my head, flying around like some sort of gnat that I can’t seem to squish. He’s been gone, erased from my conscience. So seeing him kind of takes me aback for a moment. And seeing her with him makes me shudder.

She has a genuine smile on her face and he has one on his, too.  _ They look happy together… he looks happy with her and she looks happy with him. He makes her happy… _

He leans down and kisses her right on the lips and she kisses him back, smiling through it like he’s making her the happiest girl in the world. And I know, I know I can’t fault Lauren Zizes for liking him because he very well might treat her with some level of respect that he never treated me with. He might have never done anything to her. He might treat her kindly, with courtesy and everything they do together could most certainly be done out of love. Maybe he was a monster to me. Maybe he is just the bad guy in my story.

Maybe… maybe on some level, he deserves to be happy just as much as I deserve it as well. And maybe someday, I can learn to accept that.

I keep my head down when I pass them. My head is down, facing the ground when I round the bend and trek my heels into the choir room. It’s not until I’m actually in here that I realize how much I missed it. I miss the feeling of safety, unity and sheer calmness that washes over me as soon as I cross the threshold. Even though nobody in glee club really acknowledged me all day in school, I’m still happy to be here amongst them. So when I pick my head up and finally face everyone that I missed so terribly while I was out of school, I —

**“WELCOME BACK, QUINN!”**

I nearly jump out of my skin when they all scream in unison and my heart is thundering like someone just tried to kill me!  _ Oh my god, I almost died… you can’t scare me like that! You can’t… _

“Oh…” I whisper to myself and my voice kind of cuts out before I can actually say the “my god” part that I wanted to say. Tears sting the corners of my eyes and my jaw starts to tremble because they didn’t forget about me. They didn’t forget about me and they didn’t ignore me…

The banner hanging from the ceiling shows that they didn’t forget about me. It’s made from the same roll of white paper the Cheerios use while making signs for the pep rally. And it looks like Rachel and Mercedes painted  **WELCOME BACK ** across it in pink and purple letters. I know it was Rachel and Mercedes who painted it because it’s a mixture of both their handwriting used as the outline for painting.  _ Is this where they went this morning during breakfast? Instead of printing out an English paper like Mercedes said? Is this what Rachel went to the choir room for? _

When I feel like I have my tears under control, everyone in this room makes it that much harder for me to not cry because they all run over me. And they run over to me fast, too. Like… like maybe they’ve been waiting to hug me again. Like maybe they really are happy to see me and have me back in this room with them. Chairs flip over because everyone ran up with so much excitement, and people actually push their way to the front of the crowd. I’m not sure how I’m still standing on my feet. I’m not sure how the force of everyone ambushing me doesn’t knock me over.

“We missed you!” I can hear Blaine’s voice over everyone else’s voice, which is kind of weird because he’s not usually the loudest in the room.

Tears are rolling hot and thick down my cheeks and I want to open my mouth. I want to speak up and tell everyone thank you and I love them and that I missed them too, but every time I try to speak, words won’t come out. Only more tears come out, so I give up on trying to say anything at all.

“It was literally  _ so  _ boring without you,” Santana uses her elbows to force everyone away from me. “I kept looking to my right every time someone said something stupid — which is like, more than 100% of the time in here — and you weren’t there. I was losing my mind.”

“You know you can just admit that you missed me, Santana,” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her in for a more personal hug. “You can just say it. Say ‘I missed you, Quinn.’ It won’t hurt.”

“I’d rather shit in my hands and clap,” she rolls her eyes at me, but counters it with a devious grin and God, I really did miss her.

“Allllllright, we’ve chocolate with vanilla frosting and vanilla with chocolate frosting!” Mr. Schue is the last one in the choir room, and he comes in balancing two trays of cupcakes on his hands like a waiter. “Sorry that they’re mini cupcakes guys, it’s all that the bakery had left since it was the end of the day.”

“Ooh, I call dibs on all the vanilla frosting!” Brittany raises her hand high in the air and makes me laugh. I missed that goofball too. “I need it for toothpaste, so you kinda have to give it to me.”

“You got me cupcakes?!” I use my thumbs to wipe my tears and walk over to Mr. Schue with outstretched arms. Even though he’s not always the best person in the world and I don’t always like him, he really does mean a lot to me. And I did miss him a whole lot.

“Of course! It’s your first day back, if that’s not cause for celebration, I don’t know what is,” he pulls me into a side hug and pats my shoulder. “Welcome back, Quinn. It sure was lonely in here without you.”

“And sorry that it’s not in an envelope,” Tina approaches me next, and she has a giant piece of poster paper in her hands. “We couldn’t find one big enough. Me, Kurt, Rachel and Mercedes tried.”

“You guys…” I take the paper from their hands and open the giant homemade card up. All it says inside is “we love you and you’re special” written in Mercedes’ neat, loopy cursive handwriting. But in various colors and forms of pencil, pen and marker, everyone wrote little notes to me.

_ You don’t understand how amazing it is to share the planet with someone like you. I love you forever and ever, babe. Never forget it. All of my love, Rachel. _

_ To the most special person on the planet, thank you for being my best friend. Blood couldn’t make us any closer. Love you to pieces girl. -Mercedes _

_ I’m so glad we got as close as we did. I miss you so much and love you a ton. You’re gonna pull through this stronger than ever! Love, Tina  _

_ Miss you tons in this choir room. Get better soon so we can rock it at nationals! From Sam _

_ The world would be so much less glamorous without you. Feel better. We’re all rooting for you. ~Kurt. _

_ You already know how I feel about you. I don’t like a lot of people but somehow I like you. Stay strong. -Santana Lopez _

_ Get well soon Quinn. You are important to all of us and we need you here. Sincerely, Finn + Puck _

I want to stand here and read everyone’s sweet little messages to me, but I can’t anymore. I can’t stop crying and my vision is too blurry with tears, so I just close it and wipe my eyes hard so I can will myself to stop blubbering like a baby.

“Thank you so much,” I sniffle and put the card on top of the piano for safekeeping. “You guys are so awesome,” I look at each and every single person standing before me, even Puck. “I don’t feel like I deserve this… you guys are incredible.”

“We know you’ve had a rough time this past like, year and a half,” Finn stands front and center and says, and I think it’s really nice of him to address me so kindly when we’ve been unofficially fighting over Rachel since like September or something. “And we just want you to know that you’re… like family or something.”

“All jokes aside, you mean a lot to everyone in here, Quinn,” Santana says next, and everyone is starting to filter away from me so I kind of feel like they’re about to sing to me.

“We’ve been working on this ever since Mercedes told us that you were in the hospital,” Blaine says. “And we finally get to sing it to you.”

I nod my head and sit down in an empty seat. I close my eyes and take a deep breath to keep myself from falling apart and crying too much when they start singing.

** _“Maybe we’re all different, but we’re still the same. We all got the blood of Eden running through our veins.” _ ** Finn starts the song and I feel goosebumps prickling up on my arms…

** _“I know sometimes it’s hard for you to see. You’re caught between just who you are and who you want to be.” _ ** Kurt sings next and passes the song off to Blaine.

** _“If you feel alone and lost and need a friend. Remember every new beginning is some beginning’s end…” _ ** Blaine sings and even though I’ve never heard this song, I know the chorus is coming..

** _“Welcome to wherever you are…” _ ** Everyone sings together and I really can’t even describe how I feel. I don’t have words for it. It’s almost like being lifted up into the air and feeling weightless and supported by everyone around you. It’s the purest form of feeling like you’re with someone who cares.  ** _“This is your life, you made it this far. Welcome… you gotta believe that right here, right now, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Welcome… to wherever you are…”_ **

Mercedes is up next to sing a portion of the song, and she’s the only one to come over and give me a hug while she’s singing. I squeeze her back as hard as I can.

** _“When everybody’s in and you’re left out…” _ ** she sings in her pretty pitch.  ** _“And you feel you’re drowning in the shadow of doubt.”_ **

** _“Everyone’s a miracle in their own way. Just listen to yourself, not what other people say…” _ ** Rachel bookends Mercedes’ verse and I don’t know how I’ve never realized how beautiful their voices sound together.  ** _“When it seems you’re lost, alone and feeling down… Remember everybody’s different. Just take a look around…”_ **

** _“Welcome to wherever you are,” _ ** they sing the chorus again and this time… well… this time, I join in too. I stand up and start singing as best as I can even though my throat hurts.  ** _“This is your life, you made it this far. Welcome, you gotta believe that right here, right now, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”_ **

** _“Be who you wanna be… be who you are!” _ ** Santana handles the next part and I think she’s going to share this with Brittany from the looks of it.

** _“Everyone’s a hero… everyone’s a star!” _ ** Brittany sings next.

** _“When you wanna give up and your heart’s about to break…” _ ** To my surprise, I don’t even feel like the moment is ruined when Puck starts to sing this next part. 

** _“Remember that you’re perfect… God makes no mistakes.” _ ** Mr. Shue gets in on that last part.

** _“Welcome to wherever you are. This is your life, you made it this far. Welcome, you gotta believe that right here, right now you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. And I say welcome…. I say welcome…_ **

“To wherever you aaaare…” I sing the last part by myself.

And it doesn’t even hurt my throat when I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Flawlesspeasant here! :) I just wanted to thank you for still reading and also apologize that it's been taking me a little longer than usual to get these last few chapters up. I'm trying as hard as I can to get them up quickly so I can really focus and get you guys to fall in love with my new story (The Keeper) because it's super unique and I think you guys are going to love it because it's unlike any other Faberry story I've ever seen in the fandom. So I'm really trying here, just bear with me. As some of you guys know that I write my chapters on my phone. I use the google docs app on my phone and write my chapters while I'm lying in bed at night, before I go to sleep. It's comfortable for me, but it's not practical for my hands I guess, because now I'm battling carpal tunnel syndrome that I might need surgery to correct, which sucks! haha. So anyway, that's why it's been taking me a little longer than usual. My fingers go numb sometimes and it's getting harder for me to type my chapters. I'm going to have to start using my laptop! Lol. I just wanted to keep you guys in the loop and informed about the delay between chapters.
> 
> Thanks guys! All The Best is still almost over! :(
> 
> ~ Raechelle. (Pronounced like Rachel :b )


	76. Lemonade

**iMessage**

**Thursday, December 19**

**4:45 p.m.**

**ME: ** i didn’t lock my car this morning. you and rachel just get in and wait for me. i’ll be there in a second i just had to get my trig book from my locker.

**ME: ** did santana decide where we’re going? & who’s all riding with us?

**4:46 p.m.**

**MERCEDES: ** K we are in the car waiting 4 u. Me Rachel Tina Santana n Brit all crowded in here lol. N Santana said smth bout going 2 breadstix if that’s k wit u

**ME: ** breadstix is fine. i’ll be there in a min.

I can count on one hand how many times I remember going to work with my dad when I was younger and surprising as it may sound… I used to love it even though it was boring.

Every April, Dad’s work would have their annual “bring your daughter to work day”, and me and Frannie always looked forward to going, because going to work with Dad usually meant that we got to skip school and sit in the office all day, playing on the big swivel chairs that zoomed really fast when me and Frannie used to race in them. Then for lunch, he would always take us to McDonalds and buy us hamburgers and if we were good little girls who ate all our food, he’d buy us milkshakes after. It’s one of the few fond memories I have of my father.

The point I’m getting at is that there were times at Dad’s office when all me and Frannie could do was sit around and try to find ways to entertain ourselves. He had a stack of magazines on his bookshelf that were so old and outdated that the pages were frayed, curled and yellow. The year I turned ten and me and Frannie went to work with her, I accidentally slammed her finger in his desk drawer. Tears welled up in her eyes and she called me the nastiest swear word I’d ever heard up until then. She told me she wasn’t playing with me anymore and that I needed to leave her alone for the rest of the day. I was sad at first, because I lost my only playmate and the rest of the day was sure to be boring. But that day, I told myself that I would make it a point to read every old magazine in his office.

I remember reading in one of them that New York City passed a law to make it illegal to text while walking.

At ten years old, I thought that was a stupid law to make. I mean, who cares if people text while walking? Most people have gotten so good at multitasking that they can text while paying attention to the lecture while their teacher is giving it. I’ve even seen Shelby draft a text message with one hand while changing Beth’s diaper with the other. Up until today, I really thought that making it illegal to text while walking was the stupidest thing any government in the United States had ever done.

_ Up until today _ , are the operative words here.

I’m too busy drafting that text message to Mercedes to pay attention to where I’m going. My head is down and my thumbs are flying across the screen at a million miles a minute, while my Trig book is tucked neatly underneath my armpit. And I’m walking in that real lazy kind of way, you know? It’s like when you’re just kind of dragging your feet along. You’re not picking them up, you’re just scooting them across the floor to get you from point A to point B and your shoes make that “tssst, tssst, tssst, tssst” kind of noise.

That’s how I’m walking.

There’s no pep in my step and surely no direction or attention being paid. So it really doesn’t come as a surprise to me when I ram right into someone’s back and my Trig book goes flying and my phone clatters to the floor.

_ Please don’t be cracked, please don’t be cracked… _

“Ah, shit,” he turns around and immediately drops down to his knees. “Sorry, Q. I didn’t see you.”

His voice registers in my ears before his presence registers in my body. It’s like my brain is on a radio delay but my emotions are running smoothly and on time and the two of them can’t catch up and get on the same wavelength to save my life. His scuffed up Adidas sneakers make my blood run cold, the loose threads at the bottom cuffs of his jeans make me feel the urge to vomit. And just like always, my first instinct is not to stand up and face him like I think I’m ready to. My first instinct is to look around and find the closest exit.

My eyes flicker to the bright red “EXIT” sign hanging by the door about three hundred feet behind him.  _ I could make it if I had to run. I can definitely make it there. I can just slip right past him and — _

“Looks like your book took the brunt of the fall,” he snickers as he swiftly scoops up the things he knocked from my hands.

His lips pull back in a tight, leathery smile and expose a row of slightly crooked, off white teeth. He smiles at me and shows his teeth the same way a wolf’s nose turns up at its prey. Teeth bared, tongue licking… waiting and hungry. And if he’s the wolf, that must make me the…

_ Prey? _

“Here,” he mumblegrunts, nudging the book and my phone in my direction.

My face is still, frozen in a permanent state of just not knowing what to do. My mouth is open slightly, my eyes glossy and low. From the door, my eyes flicker down to his hands and I’m trying to tell my brain that it’s okay for me to take it. I’m trying to tell my hands that it’s okay to reach out and take my phone and my book from his hands and tell him thank you. But it’s like I can’t move. I can’t do anything…

Except stare at his hands.

His fingers are long, slender, slightly bent at the knuckle. Thin layers of dirt smudged up underneath his fingernails are all in straight lines and they look cold. His hands. They look clammy and cold and little and nonthreatening and I don’t know… I don’t know if they’re the same hands that stole things from me, the same fingers that dug into my flesh when he forced my legs apart, the same fingernails that scratched my scalp when he was done with me, done and stroking my hair and calling me beautiful while I cried. They seem so different in a new light. They talk to me, they say “why are you afraid of us, Quinn? We’re harmless.” And for a second… I start to believe them.

“T-Thank you,” my jaw trembles and the words get stuck in my mouth like peanut butter when you take a bite of a sandwich. I manage to weasel my book and my phone out of his outstretched hands without actually touching him.

“What’s wrong with you?” His left eyebrow cocks up while the right one stays down. He slouches a little when he hoists his backpack up onto his shoulders and I feel like I’m shrinking.

Like being in the middle of an inflatable pool when all the air is suddenly being let out. The world around you gets smaller but you stay big and it’s weird and it’s uncomfortable and it’s unsettling and I… I can’t breathe…

“Mmm,” I groan, mostly to myself and eye the door behind him again.

“You’re always so weird around me anymore,” he steps toward me and I want to step back, but I can’t. My legs aren’t working…

_ What was it that Jessica taught me when I start feeling this way? What was it again? _

_ Five things I can see… _

_ The glowing red exit. Jacob Ben Israel lugging his camera out the door. The blue posters hanging for winter formal on Saturday. The reminder for the French club meeting tomorrow. The megaphone trophy the Cheerios won two years ago in the trophy case. _

_ The exit. Jacob Ben Israel. Posters. Reminder. Trophy. _

“Even in Glee club, you just act so weird all the time. You don’t look at me, you don’t talk to me, you don’t even acknowledge me.” He tilts his head to one side and looks at me and I feel his eyes all over me. They’re all over me, they’re… they’re…

_ Four things you can hear, Quinn. _

_ I can hear the janitors wheeling the mop buckets down the hallway. I hear the air conditioning system humming. I can hear keys jingling from the teachers locking up their rooms. I can hear someone’s high heels click-clacking down the hallway. _

_ Buckets. Air conditioning. Keys. Heels. _

“I thought after everything we’ve been through, you and I could at least remain friends.” He rests his shoulder against the locker and I feel like he’s closing me in. I can’t see the exit anymore when he stands like that! I can’t see the door!

_ Three things you can feel…? _

_ I can feel my heart and it’s beating too fast. I can feel my eyes stinging with tears. And I can feel the clothes on my body because suddenly they feel too heavy! _

_ Two things I can smell… _

_ I can smell lysol from the janitors cleaning and I can smell his cologne because he’s so close to me… _

_ One I can taste… one I can taste… one I can taste… _

_ My fear… I can taste that…. _

“I-I have to go,” I flip my hair over my shoulder because I’m just trying to be like the typical glamorous Quinn so he doesn’t feel like something’s wrong with me. “I’m meeting the girls at Breadstix and I don’t wanna be late.”

I start to go around him so I can leave and pretend like this never even happened, but he takes one step to his right and blocks me and I can feel it all over again. The anxiety. It’s filling me up the way water fills up a bathtub.

“Puck, seriously, I—“

“See, you’re avoiding me again.” He stands in front of me with his feet planted firmly and I don’t know what I’m going to do if he doesn’t let me leave. I can just scream… maybe someone will hear me… maybe someone will save me this time… I want to scream for Mom but I know she’s not here… “You’ve been avoiding me since the beginning of school.”

I close my eyes and swallow a little bit of vomit that crept up into my esophagus and made my throat burn.

_ Five things you can see… _

“It’s it ‘cause you still think of me? And you know I’m with Zizes?” Again, he steps toward me. And I don’t realize what he’s doing until it’s actually done. It doesn’t register when he lifts his arm, sticks his hand out, and uses one finger to move a loose strand of my hair out of my face. “It’s okay if you think of me… I won’t tell,” he whispers and… that’s… THAT’S IT.

At first, yeah, okay? At first I do feel my shoulders tense up and I flinch and cower away from him like I’m afraid but that’s just the thing. I’m DONE being afraid of him. He’s not scary at all. He’s just… he’s… he’s Noah fucking Puckerman. He’s nothing. I’m stronger than him and I am determined to put this behind me. I’m done letting him control me.

So I swat his hand away and give him a look that lets him know that he cannot touch me, ever, ever again.

“I don’t think about you,” I shake my head and look at him from head to toe.

He’s got eyes that used to make me dizzy every time he looked at me because I remember the way they had fire and determination in them the night I said no. He’s got eyes that I’m not afraid of anymore.

He’s got a mouth that used to make me want to throw up when he spoke to me because I knew that mouth felt cold and harsh and wet when he kissed me over and over to get me to stop whimpering. He’s got a mouth that I’m not afraid of anymore.

I look at him… at Puck, the father of my child, the stealer of my virginity… the goofball in Glee club… I look at him and I see… I see nothing but a little boy. A scared little boy… one that matches the scared little girl inside of me…

“I don’t think about you,” I say again with more conviction this time. “At least, not in the way you think I do.”

He tilts his head to the other side, eyebrows wrinkled in the middle like he’s asking what I mean.

“When I think about you…” I take a deep breath to steady myself and clear the tears from my voice. “I think about your body crushing me. Over, and over, and over again until I black out and can’t feel it anymore.” A tear rolls down my cheek but I don’t bother wiping it, because these tears are not weakness. These tears are strength. “I think about how I could tasting the saltiness of my tears, mixed with your sweat and they roll down my cheeks. And I think about the sound my underwear make when you tear them off my body and then how you tell me to relax when I put my hands on your chest and push you away from me. ...I think about the way you took my virginity —  _ stole  _ it — and the blood stain on my Cheerios skirt to remind me of it. You raped me.”

His face is so white that it’s translucent and he looks as though he has just seen the ghost of me. There’s a small spark inside of me that feels bad for him, a small spark that knows that he is just a child and he is a coward. But I snuff that spark out because I’m not done with him.

“Look,” he rubs his hand across his head. “I dunno what you’re trying to say, and I dunno how you remember that night, but that’s not my memory of it. I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, I didn’t…” he looks around like he’s trying to see if anyone is around, then he makes his voice really low so that only he and I can hear him when he speaks. “ _ Rape  _ you, Quinn.”

“Except you did, Puck. You did.” It’s kind of eerie how calm I am. You know, I thought about this moment a whole lot. I thought I’d be shaking and crying when I finally confronted him, but it’s not like that at all. I feel nothing but calm. Nothing but present in this moment. “You knew the moment I tried to go home that you weren’t going to let me. You knew the moment I said I didn’t want anymore alcohol that you were going to keep giving it to me.”

“No, you said okay,” he shakes his head hard. “Do I need to refresh your memory?! You said ‘okay, but don’t tell anyone.’ I never did a thing to you. You really think I need to rape you?! You were practically begging me for it, kissing me, grinding on me… you don’t get to cry rape just because you regretted it the second it happened. What we did was not rape. We had sex, we made a baby, and that’s it. You told me it was okay. You told me to keep going.”

“And then I asked you to stop!” I bite my lip to regain control over my emotions. “I asked you to stop multiple times, multiple times before you even put it inside me! You no longer had my consent. I didn’t want to do it. I told you no, I told you to stop, and you went and did it anyway. You took it anyway. You took something that wasn’t yours to take.”

“Whatever, Quinn,” his face isn’t white anymore. It’s completely red and I see anger all through him. Yet, I’m still not scared. “Whatever. If that’s the narrative you’re going with and if that’s what you want to believe then —“

“It’s the truth, Puck. The truth. You can sit here and try to convince me otherwise, but you know… and I know… what really happened. It’s the truth. You raped me.”

“I did not rape you!”

“You did!” I purse my lips together tightly because I know what I have to say next. I know what I have to say. There’s a part of me that wants to remain stuck in this state; this permanent state of anger and anguish. That part of me isn’t ready to stop being angry at him for denying it. But the part of me that is bigger and the part of me that wants to move past this knows exactly what I have to say and why I have to say it. That part of me feels it, deep in the depths of my soul…

“...And I forgive you,” I say after taking a deep breath. “I forgive you for not knowing more about consent. I forgive you for being a scared, immature little boy that doesn’t have anyone to look up to in his life. I forgive you because nobody ever taught you that the second a girl says no, you STOP. I forgive you because I need to believe that you know better now and you won’t do it again. I forgive you for me… and for Beth. I forgive you. And I don’t hate you.”

His face softens and I can see the look of relief wash over him. And I’m not sure if it’s relief because the mother of his child doesn’t hate him or if it’s relief because he knows that he’s in the clear and I’m not pressing charges. Either way, he’s relieved and I guess… well, I guess I don’t care.

“Okay then, why all the dramatics? If you’re not mad and you forgive me, then why —“

“I forgive you, Puck. That’s all. I forgive you. But I never want to speak to you again. Ever. And I never want you to speak to me. And next year, when we graduate? You will never see me again. And you’ll never see Beth again, either. So just… take it, okay? Take my forgiveness and do whatever you want with it. But I don’t want to speak to you again. You’re… You’re dead to me…”

Shaking my head, I turn and walk away from him… finally. And I feel good about it when I walk away from him, too. I feel like… like I’m closing the last page of a very long book. Like this chapter of my life is finally over. And I think I hear him calling after me. I think I hear him calling “Quinn!” while I walk away from him.

But maybe it’s just an echo.

* * *

I sure am glad that there’s nobody in the office on Saturdays except for the receptionist because if there were, I’d surely be getting a thousand crazy glances from everyone considering the way I look right now.

I usually put more pride in my appearance, I swear I do. And maybe if I still had a crush on her the way I did before we kissed and everything blew up, I’d have snatched the curlers out of my hair and put on a pair of leggings instead of my baggy sweatpants. I swear, if I still had a crush on her, I would have done a whole lot better. But after all… I’m only dropping in.

Since Saturdays at the office are pretty relaxed and chill, I don’t have to wait for anyone to buzz me in and take my name down. The receptionist knows me and she doesn’t even look up from her computer when she presses the button to unlock the door. I just have to yank the handle and go inside.

I feel the six curlers in my hair wobbling with every step I take, and my sweatpants are falling because the car keys in my pocket are weighing them down, but it’s only a few more paces until I reach her office. I don’t know if me just showing up here randomly is against some kind of rule or if it’s perfectly okay because sometimes patients have crises, but I guess I’m about to find out. It’s just that we didn’t schedule a visit today because I have winter formal to go to, but I know that she uses Saturdays to catch up on her paperwork so she should be here.

_ Oh I feel so sorry… I feel so sad. I tried to help you. It just made you mad. And I had no warning about who you are. I’m just glad I made it out without breaking down and ran so fuckin’ far that you will never ever touch me again… _

“Won’t see your alligator tears ‘cause no I’ve had enough of them,” I whisper the last part of the lyrics to the song playing in her office to myself then grin. I should have guessed she was a Halsey fan. She totally seems the type.

“Knock, knock,” I say in a sing-songy voice as I tap on her already open door.

She looks up from typing on her laptop and her face is surprised, but she breaks out into a very honest smile.

“Quinn!” she smiles at me and turns down the music blaring from her laptop speakers. “What are you doing here?! Did you need a session?!”

“No, no,” I shake my head, mindful of the curlers and walk into her office. “I’m not staying. As you can see, I’m getting ready for the dance.”

“Oh, that’s tonight?” She raises her eyebrows. “Do you feel well enough to go? How’s your throat?”

“It’s fine. It’s a little itchy now that it’s healing, but yanno. It’s better than it hurting all the time, so.” I sit down in the chair I usually sit in. “I just wanted to come by and tell you thank you. For not giving up on me.”

“Ah, Quinn,” she waves her hand at me. “You know you’re my girl. You know I care about you just as much as I care about myself. I’m just glad to see you’re doing better.”

“I am,” I nod. “Doing better, I mean. I… I think my mom is gonna let me go. Sign the papers and stuff, saying that she terminates her rights. I think she’s gonna do it. I went and talked to her.”

“Oh, you did? You wanna talk about it? Was it bad?”

“No, it was good actually…” I slip my hand down into my pocket just to make sure the real reason I came down here is still in there. “...And I talked to Puck, too.”

“No…” her jaw drops. “Well…? How’d that go?”

“Think we can save it for Tuesday? I’m… I’m okay. I don’t need to talk about it right now.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” she shrugs her shoulders. “...Why’d you really come down here, Quinn? What do you need?”

“Nothing.” I stand up and wrap my hand around the smooth packet inside of my pocket. “I just… I wanted you to have these.” I put the packet down on her desk and watch as she picks it up and studies it.

“...Lemon seeds?”

“I went down to the flower shop to pick up Rachel’s corsage… you know, for the dance tonight? And I saw this lemon tree… it was so pretty and so big and so… yellow. And I looked at the nameplate and it said that it was planted in loving memory of someone. I asked the shop owner and he said his father wanted that tree planted in his memory when he died. Said he wanted his son to use the lemons to make lemonade so people — homeless or not — could have a free cup to drink when they come by the shop. He said something to me… Something about life handing you lemons and people have to teach you to make lemonade. And well…” I sigh. “You taught me how to make lemonade, Bail. So I thought you’d like some lemons.”

She smiles at me with two streams of tears rolling down her cheeks and says, “You’re an amazing kid, Quinn.”


	77. ocean eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said this is going to be 78 chapters, so by that logic, the next chapter is the final chapter. But the more I looked at it, the more my OCD kicked in and I want it to be an even 80 chapters. So I split this chapter into two, and then the final chapter will be two chapters as well. So you might be seeing shorter chapters for these last ones, and the reason for it is because I want it to be 80 chapters.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

* * *

“Quinn!” When Mom yells my name, it startles me and it almost makes me mess up on applying my makeup. I can tell by how close she sounds that she’s yelling from the bottom of the steps.

“Huh…?” I call over my shoulder as I screw the cap back onto my tube of mascara. I haven’t checked the clock in a little while, but last time I did it was almost six. Winter Formal starts at seven, but I told Rachel to come over a little earlier just in case my parents want to take pictures.

I already know when I go downstairs that Mom is going to ask me for the millionth time today if I feel okay enough to go to the dance. And the truth is…

I actually do. My throat still hurts a little bit, but only when I swallow hard so that’s not really an issue. What I mean is that I feel okay in every sense of the word… not just physically. It’s like for the first time in my entire life, I don’t have this cloud looming over me. I can hold my head up to the sky and take a deep breath and know that everything is okay. And even when things aren’t okay at the time being, they will be okay soon enough. I’m okay. And for the first time ever, I’m not lying when I say that.

“Rachel’s down here! Come on so I can take pictures before you’re late!” She yells back, and it’s a good thing I just finished my makeup.

I use my index finger to smooth my lipstick out and erase a part that smudged onto my chin. I’m excited to see what Rachel looks like. She kept trying to send me a picture of herself in her dress on Snapchat earlier, but I refused to look at it. I kind of want to see her when I get the full effect, you know? I want to see her when her hair is all done up and her makeup is fresh. When she looks at me climbing down the steps and our eyes meet and for a moment, we’re suspended in time and everything is magical. That’s the way I want to see her, in all her glory.

I stand up from my vanity and smooth out my own dress just to make sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. It’s not prom, so when me and Mercedes went dress shopping yesterday after Mom gave me the official seal of approval to go to the dance, Dad set our budget at $100 a piece. He said the only time he’d spend more than that would be on our prom dresses or our wedding dresses. When he said that, I think that’s when it finally hit me.

In the future, when I get married to Rachel, it’ll be him that I dance with at my wedding. And it’ll be Mom who’s busy fixing my hair and making sure the train of my dress lays flat before I walk down the aisle. The ones who give me away will be Jared and Patrice and if I decide to invite them, Russel and Judy will be spectators in the second or third row. I have two parents who love and care about me now, and this doesn’t have to be temporary anymore. The Joneses can be my forever.

Anyway, my dress only cost eighty bucks so it’s not like it’s very grand and poofy and Cinderella-ish, but I do actually like the way I look in it. It’s a two-piece dress, and the bottom skirt is made of white silk. I bought it because I liked the flowers on it. The background of the silk skirt is white, but lots of coral-colored and navy blue flowers with jungle green leaves are patterned all over it. The top of my dress is a little more intricate and Mercedes says that only someone with my body could pull it off. It’s long-sleeved and the bodice and sleeves are all made of a dark, navy blue lace. The back is open and very low cut, but the front is higher up and modest so I think it’s the perfect balance of sexy and mature.

I pull the straps on my navy blue heels tighter, adjust my “R” necklace that I’ve taken to wearing again, and run my fingers through my hair just one more time so my curls appear loose and lax. I look as good as I’m possibly going to get, with my hair pinned back with a silver barrette and loose curls framing my face. I’m beginning to think that maybe the blue eyeshadow and the coral lipstick was a little much, but it matches my dress…

I don’t know, all I care about is making sure that Rachel looks prettier than I do.

I swat my lightswitch and turn it out as I leave my bedroom and walk steady, heels pressing into the carpet, down the hall.

“That color is actually really great on your skin,” Mercedes says and I’m assuming she’s talking to Rachel. “Did you go tanning today?”

“I actually didn’t, I’m just really dark for some reason. I’m usually super pale in the winter, but it’s been a really sunny week, so maybe that did me some justice.” Rachel replies. “Is Sam’s suit white or black?”

“It’s white, and we got him a red bow tie to match my dress.”

“Have you seen Quinn’s dress?” Rachel asks. “I’ve been trying to send her a picture of mine all day, but she won’t open it. I just wanted to see if mine and hers match. She said that hers was dark blue and lace with flowers and I tried to go off of that, but I don’t know for sure.”

“Rachel, trust me, you —“

“Look amazing,” I finish Mercedes’ sentence as I stand on the second to last step, frozen and in love. I’m... awestruck. When she spins around and turns to look at me, I feel like her eyes have melted me into a puddle of mushy, drippy goo. I’ve never met anyone so… so…  _ beautiful. _

She has her hair down and parted to the side with her bangs tucked back, soft curls falling in waves almost touching her waist. She has on makeup — I can tell — but it’s so natural, so subtle that she hardly looks like she’s wearing any at all. Her heels — her silver, sparkly high heels — make her legs look longer than they actually are. And her dress, God her dress…

Like mine, it’s navy blue and it’s lace. But the entire thing is covered in navy blue floral lace, and it’s the most basic shape of a dress I’ve ever seen, yet she looks absolutely incredible. It’s long-sleeved, just like mine. It’s very low cut in the back, just like mine. But it clings to her body and shows off her curves, form-fitting from her arms to her chest to her stomach and all the way down to where the fabric stops just above her knees. Her “Q” necklace dangling around her neck is a fantastic touch.

“Oh my god, you look great,” she gasps and looks at me from head to toe. “Your hair… and your makeup, it’s… you…” she shakes her head slowly and looks down at the ground with a guarded, gentle, half-smile. “You’re really beautiful, Quinn.”

“Not like you,” I say softly enough so only she and I can hear it. “You’re incredible.”

“Alright, alright, come on now,” Mom comes buzzing into the hallway where we’re all standing, and she already has the camera on her phone set up.

Mercedes is all annoyed with her and stuff, and I know I probably should be annoyed with her too because it’s just a staple for your mother to embarrass you by taking a thousand pictures when you’re off to a school dance, but I just can’t help but think about how it wouldn’t be this way with Judy. She’d never let Rachel into the house to take a picture with me… she’d never let me huddle close to my girlfriend while we wear coordinated dresses and matching necklaces and smile genuinely enough to take a picture. For that reason, I just can’t find it in me to be annoyed with Mom.

“I want pictures of you three separately first, then altogether, then Rachel and Quinn, then Quinn and ‘Cedes. Rachel, you wanna go first since you standing by the Christmas tree?” Mom asks, stepping back to position herself. “JARED! Come on in here, the girls is ready!”

“I… um…” Rachel pauses and stumbles over her words. She clearly wants to run away and hide because I don’t think she expected my mom to want to take a picture of her separately. I think she was a little surprised by that. But she looks at me and I give her a subtle thumbs-up for encouragement, and she sighs. “Sure.”

She hands me her clutch and her phone and scoots a little close to the Christmas tree so it’s a perfect background. I know I’m biased, but I really truly do have the most beautiful girlfriend in the entire world. That navy blue against her caramel skin, the deep brown of her hair just flowing off her scalp like a hypnotizing river… she’s just… perfect.

“Alright, gimme a smile…” Mom tilts the camera to the side to get a better angle. “Rachel, you are wearing the  _ hell  _ outta that dress, girl. You go ‘head now.”

_ She really is wearing the hell out of her dress. _

Rachel starts laughing as soon as Mom hits the middle button to snap the picture on her phone, and I haven’t seen the finished product yet, but I already know that picture is going to be my absolute favorite. Something about capturing her in the middle of a smile just really sets it all in for me. I’m here, I’m alive, I have a girlfriend that I really love and care about, and I live in a house where that is okay enough for my own mother to want to take a picture of her by herself on the day of winter formal. Crazy, isn’t it?

“Okay, now gimme a pose… any pose you want,” Mom directs and Rachel picks a really cute pose with her leg bent at the knee and her foot popped out.  _ I also never realized how photogenic she is…  _ “Okay now Quinn, you go ‘head and hop in there.”

I put my stuff and Rachel’s down on the steps and stand beside the Christmas tree, right next to Rachel. She moves in a little closer to me and slips her hand around my waist, and we both plaster those fake, teeth-revealing smiles across our faces. Once again, I haven’t seen the finished product of the picture just yet, but I already know that I’m going to look incredibly ordinary next to Rachel, who looks extraordinary. But I don’t mind. I think for one night, she deserves to feel as beautiful as she actually is; she deserves to have her moment in the limelight.

“Okay, one more… make a silly face.”

I stick my tongue out and hold up a peace sign with my two fingers and Rachel puckers her lips up into an exaggerated duck-face and I already know that picture is going to be my favorite one.

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I can’t wait to post our pictures on Instagram. I mean yeah, I’m a little worried about what people might say and worried that I’ll get comments that say that our relationship is disgusting, but there is another chance that we won’t. There’s a chance that everyone will support us and admire how beautiful we look as a couple and even despite the people who might think being gay is a crime, I want to be proud of who me and Rachel are.

“Alright, now ‘Cedes. You hop in there.” Mom adjusts her position again once Mercedes stands beside me so she can get all three of us in the picture.

Mercedes looks really pretty too, by the way. Her dress is dark red and it’s made of a really light, flowy chiffon-like fabric. It ties around her neck and cascades all the way down to her ankles, but the train of it is short and has really pretty layers and folds and drapes in it. Since it’s an open-back dress and also a halter top, she bought a furry white cardigan to drape over her shoulders, but we all know that it’s coming off as soon as we step foot into the gym.

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s ass,” Dad grins when he walks into the hallway from the kitchen, hands on his hips like he’s checking us out for approval. “You three  _ do  _ clean up well.”

“Oh my god, Dad,” Mercedes rolls her eyes at him. “Is it really that hard for you to just say we look nice?”

“Yeah,” I chime in. “A simple ‘you three look beautiful’ would’ve gone a long way.”

“Listen, listen,” he laughs. “I’m just saying. Quinn, it’s a step-up from the way you ain’t combed your hair since you got home from the hospital, ‘Cedes it’s nice to see you know how to wear something other than them beat up Nike’s, and Rachel… way to come back from the pajamas you wore for three days the last time I saw you up in the hospital.”

“This was my near-desperate attempt to prove to you, Quinn’s parents, that I am, not indeed a bum.” Rachel replies with a laugh and it’s like every little thing she does tonight feels like it’s brand new to me and I’m discovering new parts of her that I didn’t even know existed.

“You look great honey,” Dad winks at her with a new seriousness to his usually playful demeanor. “But Mercedes… you make sure that jacket stays on you all night and Quinn, I want you on constant alert to make sure the top of your dress don’t show no skin. And Rachel, don’t bend over. If you need to pick something up, kneel down and —“

“Jared!” Mom swats him with the back of her hand. “Leave them girls alone. They look fine. They look perfect.”

Good thing me, Rachel and Mercedes all have a pretty decent sense of humor and we know that Dad was only joking. You know, the thing is… he’s not really like that, which blows my mind. He doesn’t police me and Mercedes about what we can and cannot wear, he doesn’t make sure that our shorts are two inches below the knee or make sure our tank tops have that middle layer to protect our boobs. He doesn’t give much thought to anything about how we dress and maybe… I don’t know, maybe he should. Police us, I mean. Maybe he should watch us leave the house every morning for school and break out a ruler to take measurements if something is too skimpy. But the point is that he doesn’t. He’s not like that. And maybe he should be, but I’m grateful that he isn’t because I don’t have uncontrollable anxiety when I pick out my clothes in the morning anymore. Jared is nothing like Russel.

“Alright, you three ready to go?” Mom asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. She hands me the keys to my car and takes one last look at the three of us, but pays extra attention to me and Mercedes in particular. “Quinn? You ready, baby?”

“Yeah mom, I’m fine,” I reply as I grab me and Rachel’s things from the spot I put them in on the steps. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be, I feel great.” I even throw a smile in there to be extra reassuring. “I’ll call you when we get there?”

“Call me in an hour,” she brushes my hair away from my forehead. “You ain’t gotta call when you get there, just call me in an hour so I can hear your voice and make sure you alright. Mmkay?”

“Mmkay.”

“Alright now,” she pulls me and Mercedes into a hug in one sweep. “I love you two… have fun tonight.”

“We will,” me and Mercedes say in unison and you know what?

I think we actually will.

* * *

** _“Seasons change and our love went cold. Feed the flame ‘cause we can’t let go. Run away but we’re running in circles. Run away, run away.”_ **

As my heels clack up the hallway leading to the gym, I can feel the vibrations from the music radiating from the floor and ricocheting throughout my kneecaps. I could hear the music from outside as we circled around the crowded lot for a place to park. The way it bounces off the walls and makes everything around me seem to shake, I can tell it’s going to be a pretty good night. I just have that feeling inside of me.

** _“I dare you to do something. I’m waiting on you again. So I don’t take the blame. Run away but we’re running in circles…”_ **

“Run away, run away, run away…” I mumble the last part of the lyrics to myself as I stuff my car keys inside of Rachel’s clutch for safekeeping. Rachel grabs ahold of my hand as we approach the open double doors, and I can tell by the way her palm is sweating that she is nervous. So am I.

Mercedes isn’t, though. She breezes right past us and goes inside all in the same stride, probably in search of Sam. It’s easy to be like Mercedes, though. It’s easy to walk inside by yourself when you have someone you’re looking for, and it’s even easier when the person you’re looking for is of the opposite sex.

Me and Rachel aren’t supposed to do this alone, though. We’re not supposed to be the only girl-girl couple walking inside this gymnasium hand in hand. I loosen my grip on Rachel’s hand so I can turn around in search of —

“You see Santana and Brittany?!” Rachel yells so  I can hear her over the music, and she took the thought right out of my head. “I thought you said they were gonna meet us here, by the door!”

“That’s what Santana said!” I scream back, but not quite as loud as her because my throat hurts when I scream. “Gimme my phone out of your purse, I’m gonna text her and see where they’re at!”

“What?!” She screams as the song switches to something way more upbeat and ten times louder.

“I said hand me my phone!”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Give me my —“

“Oh my god, finally!” Someone screams from the opposite end of the hallway and even though the music is deafening, nothing beats the sound of her high heels angrily clacking along the floor as Santana charges over to us. “Me and Britt were hiding out in the bathroom waiting for you two!”

“Sorry!” I say as my eyes are on Brittany walking right behind her. “We took pictures and they ran a little late! Did you guys go in yet?!”

“Not yet!” Brittany says. “Santana said we had to wait for you and Rachel so we don’t have everyone looking at us but I kinda want to have everyone looking at us, so!”

“Here, take some of this,” Santana unscrews the cap off of a small, silver flask that she pulled from the middle of her boobs. “We’re gonna need it to make it through the night. Britt and I have already been sipping, you and Rachel need to catch up.”

“Oh thank god,” I mumble to myself and take a long, drawn out sip from the flask. When I pull it away from my mouth and swallow, my face involuntarily turns up.  _ That tastes SO bad…  _ “What IS that?!”

“It’s a little bit of everything that I found in my abuela’s sock drawer. Just pinch your nose while you’re drinking and it goes down smooth.“

“That is awful…” I resist the urge to gag and hand the flask to Rachel, who looks at me with round, concerned eyes. “Just sip it,” I shrug at her.

“But Quinn, I don’t… I mean, I don’t… I don’t know, won’t we get in trouble?” She looks at the flask and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks like she’s going to cry. “Like big trouble?”

“Only if we get caught. Just take a sip, trust me. It’ll take the edge off and we need that for tonight. Anything that’ll help us deal with people staring, the better.” I put my hand on her shoulder to be reassuring. “Trust me, Rachel… I’m not trying to pressure you, but we need to be drunk for this. Or at least buzzed.”

She bites her bottom lip softly and grips the flask with shaky fingers. She closes her eyes and takes one quick sip from it… and her face turns up just like mine does. For a second, it looks like she might spit it out. She hands it back to Santana roughly and sticks her tongue out.

“That is DISGUSTING!” She keeps her tongue out while she speaks and I think she’s adorable. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth!”

“Maybe,” Santana laughs and takes another sip herself before shoving the flask back between her boobs. “But it’ll get you drunk.”

“Okay guys,” I sigh and stand in the middle of both Rachel and Santana, holding out my hands. “You guys ready?”

“Ready,” the three of them say altogether.

“Here goes nothing…” I mutter and the four of us, united together and holding hands, enter the gym.

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it kind of looks the same as it always does for basketball games and Cheerios practices and pep rallies. I mean, of course there’s the food table and then there’s the DJ and his speakers, and there’s a Christmas tree in the middle of the dancefloor, but everything is the same. Except for the red and green strobe lights projecting little circles everywhere.

And as I look around me, at the crowds of my peers are dressed up and sparkling clean, laughing and living in the moment, I realize that it’s weird moment again, the one that only ever happened after Karofsky committed suicide.

It’s the moment when you look at all the people around you and realize that they’re just as human as you. You realize that inside school, everyone has molds to fit into and norms to confine to. But outside of school, where there are no rules and no cliques and no assigned cafeteria seats based on social status… Everyone loves each other. The students of McKinley High School stand as a united front and we look out for each other. Everyone loves each other, but nobody actually really likes each other. It’s a tender moment, one that isn’t lost on me. One that makes me feel like we are exactly what we are; the many students bound together by one low class, underperforming high school in Lima, Ohio.

The weird part is that this feeling will be over once we’re all back in school after Christmas break.

“Quinn,” Rachel says my name in her normal tone, and the only reason I can hear her over the music is because she’s directly in my ear. Her palm is still sweaty as it’s locked inside of mine. “Quinn, nobody’s staring… nobody’s staring at us.”

“I know,” I nod my head and take one step closer to the dancefloor. “Wanna dance with me?”

“Of course,” she smiles and pulls my hand, leading me to an empty space on the dancefloor just beside Santana and Brittany.

Okay, so I know I might be biased once again, but I really do think that Rachel is the best dressed one here. Don’t get me wrong, I see a lot of pretty dresses. Like Sugar’s dark green one with stars all over it and also Tina’s light blue one makes her look like the queen from that Disney movie about ice and stuff. Frozen, I think it’s called. Yeah, she looks like that. Her dress is gorgeous. And so is Santana’s, actually. It’s plain red and just very sleek fitting, but she looks amazing in it, especially when she stands next to Brittany in her black and red tuxedo.

But Rachel… She’s just above and beyond. She looks so good in her dress that it’s actually unfair. It fits her like a glove and I really think that it shows the entire student body a side of her that nobody thought she had. I mean, I always knew she was sexy. But when she wears her plaid skirts and sweaters and doesn’t really dress to show off her beautiful body, it’s kind of hard for anybody else to realize that she is,  _ indeed _ , sexy.

“Oh my god, I love this song!” Santana screams as soon as the next song comes on and she starts dancing like a wild fool, swinging her hair and her hips and it’s just like she’s having the best time of her life…

And I join her because… well, I love this song, too. And everyone on the dancefloor is letting loose and cutting a rug so I don’t look too ridiculous and plus… when I dance, Rachel feels confident enough to dance too.

Like Santana is holding Brittany’s hand and shaking her hips, I grab onto both of Rachel’s hands and do the same thing while I sing to her. She gets a kick out of the lyrics, I can tell because she throws her head back and laughs with her entire body.

**“She got the mm, brown eyes! Caramel thighs! Long hair, no wedding ring!” ** I sing to her while we dance and she has the biggest smile that I’ve honestly ever seen on her face.  **“I saw you lookin’ from across the way and now I really wanna know your name!”**

**“She got the mm, white dress, but when she’s wearin’ less you know that drives me crazy!” ** She sings right back at me, through her hysterical laughs. And I know I probably shouldn’t push it because nobody’s staring at us so far, but I can’t help it. She’s moving her hips from side to side and gyrating to every beat of the music and I’m weak… I’m so weak… so I put my hand on her waist…

**“The mm, brown eyes, you know I love watchin’ you do your thing!” ** I mouth the lyrics this time, because I feel like if I sing out loud, I’m going to end up losing my mind. Now isn’t the time or place for me to have these feelings — this heat swirling at my core — but I. Can’t. Help. It. The way her hips move…

** _“So join me in this bed that I’m in._ **

** _And push up on me and sweat darlin’._ **

** _So I’m gonna put my time in._ **

** _I won’t stop until the angels sing…”_ **

**“Jump in that water, be free! Come south of the border with me!” ** Me and Rachel both sing that part — our favorite part — together, and along with everyone else. There’s not a single soul in this gym sitting down right now and everyone kinda screamed that in tandem.  **“Jump in that water, be free! Come south of the border with me!”**

I’m not sure if the alcohol that she drank is maybe taking its toll on her or not. I didn’t think she drank enough to even get a slight buzz, but I really think she might be a little bit drunk because when the next part of the song comes on, Rachel grabs my hand so tight and yanks me with all her strength. 

**“She got them mm, green eyes, givin’ me signs that she really wants to know my name, hey!” ** She doesn’t sing, she just mouths Camila Cabello’s part of the song but she really puts her all into lip synching… I mean she REALLY gives it her all…  **“I saw you lookin’ from across the way and suddenly I’m glad I came, hey!”**

She keeps mouthing and pulling me closer to her. Our bodies go crashing into each other and she grinds her hips against mine, then even turns around so her butt is against me while she shakes her hips… and none of this makes any sense to me…

Not until I look to my left and see that Santana and Brittany are also dancing like strippers. Then I can kind of figure that they gave Rachel her courage.

**“Ven para acá quiero bailar, toma mi mano Q** **uiero sentir tu cuerpo en mi, estás temblando!” ** Santana sings the Spanish part fluently to Brittany and I think that maybe I’m just a big ball of raging hormones right now because even seeing Santana sing in Spanish really does something to me…  **“I love her lips ‘cause she says the words, ‘te amo mami, ah, te amo mami.’ Don’t wake up ‘cause this love is like a dream…”**

** _“So join me in this bed that I’m in._ **

** _And push up on me and sweat darlin’._ **

** _So I’m gonna put my time in._ **

** _I won’t stop until the angels sing…”_ **

**“Jump in that water, be free! Come south of the border, border, come south of the border with me!” ** Since the song is drawing to a close, I take the last few moments of it to take a page out of Rachel and Santana’s book and dance like I’m in my room and nobody’s watching.

And I’m really into it, I think. I’m pretty on beat and I’m pretty sure my hips are on beat and I’m pretty sure Rachel likes it because she touches my butt, but the song slowly draws to a close as the DJ transitions into the next song and honestly… I’m a little grateful that South of the Border is over. It was a little too steamy and if I went on a little longer, I’m fairly certain that I would have probably dragged Rachel to the nearest bathroom.

“You need a drink?” Santana asks, breathless and sweaty. She looks around to make sure none of the chaperones are looking, then pulls her flask out of her boobs.

I grab it off of her first and take another sip. Man, it’s still pretty gross but it’s smoother going down this time. Probably because I already know to expect straight nastiness. To my surprise, nobody has to talk Rachel into it this time. She just grabs the flask out of my hands and takes several gulps before handing it back to Santana.

“Don’t throw up like the last time you got drunk, hobbit.” Santana let’s Brittany take a sip before putting it back in its hiding place. “I’m not about to babysit you all night because you can’t handle your liquor.”

“Guys, I’m fine,” Rachel laughs and smiles and that right there tells me that she isn’t fine…  _ oh god this is going to be a long night.  _ “I don’t even remember the last time I was drunk. I think I kissed Quinn the last time I was drunk.”

“You did and you threw up in my mom’s bathroom,” I roll my eyes just for dramatics.

“Last time I was drunk I woke up pregnant,” Brittany sighs. “I wish the stork would’ve let me keep my baby.”

“Yeah, well last time I was drunk I kissed and fingerblasted Quinn, so.” Santana shrugs and my cheeks turn red.

“Why must you bring that up?” I ask her through clenched teeth.

“Yeah, why?” Rachel hiccups and giggles.  _ Oh lord she’s definitely on her way to being drunk. Damn, it doesn’t take her much at all! Lightweight!  _ “What about you, Quinn? When was the last time you were drunk?”

“The last time I was drunk…” I pause to wrack my brain and try to think of the last time I was drunk. I mean, I already know the last time I was drunk. The last time I was drunk, it was that night. But everyone else has such good stories about it. I don’t want my story to be one downer of the group. That’s depressing, isn’t it? To say the last time you got drunk you were raped? But that’s the truth… so maybe I should just go with the truth…

I take a breath and muster up the most playful tone I can when I open my mouth and say, “Last time I was drunk, Puck raped me and I got pregnant.”

Everyone laughs for a second when I say that, but I know they’re only laughing because of the  _ way  _ I said it. I said it so casually, so nonchalantly that the part about being raped flew over their heads and all they heard was “pregnant”, which made them laugh. But as soon as the gravity of what I said lands on them, their laughter stops at once. And Santana looks at me with that real concreted, pathetic kind of look. Brittany mostly just looks confused about it. And Rachel’s eyes are low, like she can’t bear to look at me because she forgot what happened to me and I just reminded her.

“I’m fine, guys,” I roll my eyes again and shake my head to lighten the mood. “Fuck men, right?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Santana shrugs and pulls her flask right back out.

As it’s being passed around again, I wait to feel something.

I wait to feel that familiar sensation of shame and anger and sadness and rawness wash over me. I wait for the dark memories of my salty tears and my underwear ripping. I wait for the memories to infiltrate my mind and take me out of this moment that I’m enjoying with my friends and my girlfriend. I wait, and I wait, and I wait…

But it never comes.

It never comes, so I look across the room and have my eyes scan for him. I know he’s here, I saw him for a brief second when Circles was playing earlier. He was over by the punch bowl probably trying to spike it. I know he’s here… where is he?

_ Bingo. _

I find him on the opposite side of the Christmas tree, right next to Lauren and pressed up against her. The flask makes its way over to me and I take a small sip this time, eyes concentrated on Puck and Lauren. Maybe if I stare at him long enough, it’ll come. The anger will wash over me and then soon the shame will follow. And I’ll run to the bathroom and cry because no matter how hard I try, I’m not over this and I can’t get over this. Maybe I’ll feel something as I watch him lean down and go for a kiss while Lauren is eating a cupcake.

Frosting all over her lips, she shakes her head and holds one finger up, denying him a kiss. And if I know Puck.. if I learned  _ anything  _ from what he did to me, I know that he isn’t going to take no for an answer. He’s about to swat her hand away and lean in and force her to kiss him anyway. He’s about to take her arm, grab it hard, and he’s going to…. he’s going to… going to…

Nod his head? With a smile on his lips? And accept that she told him no?

And there’s still no trace of anger or shame or… or anything. I feel… I feel like… I feel like Quinn. I feel like normal, usual, same Quinn. I feel like I’m happy, like it’s not in my head anymore, that I’m… I’m over it? That I’ve moved on, I’ve gotten past the ugliness of what he did to me… I’ve gotten past it because I really, truly, feel fine. Even after telling the girls about it so casually.

And maybe he learned from what he did to me. Maybe him accepting Zizes telling him no is the start of something for him, too. Maybe he changed and he grew from his experience and has accepted the fact that he really did rape me and he has to do better. Maybe he’s different now.

But honestly? I really don’t give a shit if he is or not.

“Quinn?” Rachel’s name cuts through the music and pierces me. Her voice makes me feel like coming home. It’s warm and it makes me feel warm too, like placing an ice cube in the middle of a cup of coffee. Her voice makes me feel like nothing else matters quite as much as she does. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” I nod my head and smile at her as I finally pull my eyes away from Puck and Lauren. “I’m perfect.”

“Wanna dance then?”

I look around and finally notice that everyone who is still left on the dancefloor are close to each other, slowly swaying from side to side with their heads on each other’s chests.

“You bet,” I lean in and kiss her on the cheek as I pull her close to me.

** _“Burning cities and napalm skies. Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes… your ocean eyes…”_ **

I close my eyes and really take in this moment. This moment of Rachel leaning against me with her head on my chest, of me feeling her breath spilling onto my skin as she breathes through her nose. My hand wrapped around her waist and also on her shoulder while hers are draped, hanging loosely around my butt. I swear, this is the closest to magic I’ll ever get in my life.

** _“No fair…_ **

** _You really know how to make me cry when you give me those ocean eyes. _ **

** _I’m scared…_ **

** _I’ve never fallen from quite this high, falling into your ocean eyes… _ **

** _Those ocean eyes…”_ **

**“I’ve been walking through a world gone blind…” ** I sing to Rachel ever so softly while she lies against my chest.  **“Can’t stop thinking of your diamond mind.” ** I feel her lips spread into a smile.  **“Careful creature, made friends with time. He left her lonely with a diamond mind… and those ocean eyes.”**

** _“No fair…”_ **

As the chorus rolls around again, Rachel lifts her head from my chest and it’s like we’re on the same wavelength because I already know what she wants. I want it too.

So we both close our eyes and we close the space between eyes ever so slowly, head’s tilting just slightly to the side. This might be our most meaningful kiss, it might be our —

“Why don’t you two keep it PG?!” Someone’s really annoying, high-pitched voice yanks me out of the moment. It’s like in those old 90s movies where the record scratches and the movie stops in some sort of freeze frame.

My eyes snap open and I look to my left, where the voice came from. And she’s so annoying, so irrelevant that I don’t even remember her name. She was in the celibacy club with me for the past three years, and she tried out for the Cheerios like fifteen times and never made it, that’s how irrelevant she is. She is IRRELEVANT… So why do I let her make me so angry?

“Why don’t you mind your fucking business and wipe your boyfriend’s cum stain off the front of your dress?!” I snap at her and Rachel grabs me by my arm and yanks me again, hard this time so I know she means business.

“Quinn!” She puts her hand on my cheek and forces me to look at her. “Stop it! Don’t! She’s not worth it, she’s —“

“I’m just saying, SOME of us still have good Christian values and would rather not witness vile sinning at a CHRISTmas dance,” that girl rolls her eyes and gets even smarter with me, but what’s worse is that she cut RACHEL off! Nobody disrespects Rachel in front of me and gets away with it!

“Good Christian values like what?! Letting your boyfriend only do anal doesn’t make you still a virgin, it just makes you a whore that can shit better.” I step toward her and Rachel grabs my arm so hard that I’m sure it’s going to bruise…

“Quinn, come on, seriously!” Rachel nudges me. “You’re better than this!”

“What’s going on?” Santana steps between me and the irrelevant hag. “Everything okay, Q?”

“Oh and now we’re going to have comments from the other carpet muncher, give me a break!” She says, and she really must be stupid… because if she thought she had it bad with me?! She has no idea what Santana is capable of.

“Okay…” Santana nods her head as calm and collected as humanly possible… but she’s taking her heels off which isn’t a good sign. “Let’s see if you still think I’m a carpet muncher when I take you outside and bury your face in the dirt, bitch!”

Santana lunges at the girl and throws a punch, but she misses when the girl’s boyfriend steps in front of them and me and Rachel both grab Santana’s arms and hold her back. She’s cussing in Spanish, I assume, because I can’t understand a word she’s saying. A small crowd has already sort of gathered around us.

The girl wriggles free out of her boyfriend’s grip and goes to throw a punch back at Santana, but I guess she has really piss poor aim because she misses… and I’m going to KILL her, I’ve decided… 

Because she ends up punching Rachel right in the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to quickly say that I hope every single one of my readers and people who have followed this story up until now are okay with everything that is happening today.
> 
> I know I have readers all across the globe, and I want you all to know that I am praying for safety for each and every single one of you, and I hope for good health in the eye of this incredibly scary pandemic. I love all of you guys and if you would kindly let me know that you are all okay, I would greatly appreciate it.
> 
> If you are one of the people who are unfortunately sick or in quarantine or isolation, I hope that I can make your times a little bit brighter by giving you something to read.
> 
> Love & prayers to all,
> 
> Rae.


	78. I Don’t Want This Night To End

I used to think that the term “seeing red” was just an expression, and when people say that they “black out” in anger, they’re just finding a way to excuse the way they can’t control their emotions. Tonight, however, I’m starting to believe that there’s some truth to both of those euphemisms.

Because I can’t really explain what happened to me when I saw the closed, clenched fist colliding with Rachel’s cheek. And I don’t really know what happened next, after I watched Rachel’s head jerk violently to the side with her hair flying all over the place. All I can remember is hearing my girlfriend cry out in pain as she stumbled backwards, and that unleashed something inside of me that I didn’t know how to control. I still don’t know how I get from one phase to the next, all I know is that some time passed for a moment — a moment that I don’t remember — and I found myself running through the hallways of McKinley High School with my shoes off and my bare feet shellacking against the floor.

I finally come to my senses when I hear the silver pin that was holding back my hair ping against the floor when it falls. My hair comes undone and unfurls in gentle curls against my shoulders, and I stop running for a moment so I can pick it up. Frannie gave it to me at my holy communion. It was hers for her communion and she gave it to me. I want my hairpin back.

But Santana stops running a few paces ahead of me when she hears my feet stop. Haggard and out of breath, she spins around in her flowy red dress and runs in a full out sprint back to where I stand, looking on the floor for a barrette that I probably won’t find here in the darkness.

“Quinn, are you crazy?!” She grabs my arm and tries to pull me away, but my feet are glued to the ground and planted firmly as I scan the floor. “Why are you stopping?! We have to keep going, we have to —“

“I lost my barrette! I have to find it, I have to —“

“It’s just a stupid barrette, I’ll buy you another one! We have to go, NOW, or we’re DEAD! We’re DEADER than dead after that shit you just pulled!” She pulls my arm with so much force that I feel like she might pull it out of socket if she keeps it up. “Come ON!”

“It’s not a stupid barrette! It’s —“

“Look, I know it’s Frannie’s barrette, but we really have to go! Now!”  _ How did she know it’s Frannie’s? I never told anyone that. I never told anyone except… oh wait… _

I finally pick my head up from looking at the ground and turn to see who’s speaking to me and grabbing my other arm and trying to pull me away, and I’m only a little bit surprised to see Rachel. Even in the dark, I can see a bruise already forming on her cheek, and there’s a little bit of blood on the side of her lip where the fist must have collided with her teeth. And suddenly, I get angry all over again.

“But Rachel, I —“

She shakes her head at me, “No, come ON, Quinn! We have to go!” 

With Rachel and Santana now both pulling my arms, I have no choice but to start running again. Brittany’s standing by the double doors that lead out into the parking lot, holding them open so me, Rachel and Santana can run straight through them. As soon as we’re outside, Brit follows us and lets the door slam. The cold winter air smacks me in the face, a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the gymnasium inside. My bare feet start to melt into the thin layer of snow on the ground, freezing and numb but I can’t stop now. Not when we’re so close to the car and I can’t run in high heels.

As she passes me up with catlike swiftness and agility, Rachel shoves my car keys into my hip and I fumble with them as I take them from her. Both looking down and running like a madwoman, I jam my thumb into the part on my key fob to unlock the door. The lights of my car flash to let us know that the doors are open, and the four of us jump inside of it, never breaking our stride.

“Start the car, Quinn! Come on! Step on it!” Santana coaches from the backseat and no matter how hard I try, it’s like I can’t find my ignition. “Come on!”

“Gimme a minute, I can’t find the —“

“SOMEONE IS COMING!” Rachel clicks her seatbelt into the latch and grabs the keys from my hand. “YOU’RE MOVING TOO SLOW!”

“I’m not trying to, I’m —“

“But you are!” Santana yells. “You are, and I’m not going to juvie tonight for sneaking a little bit of alcohol into a dance, now MOVE IT!”

Rachel somehow finds my ignition for me and starts my car and without it even being in reverse for two seconds, I back out of my parking space and floor the gas as we leave the parking lot.

“Where am I going?!” I glance over to the passenger’s seat at Rachel, since she usually knows the answers to pretty much anything. “You guys are telling me to drive, I don’t know where I’m driving to!”

“JUST DRIVE!” The three of them yell at me in unison, and I grip the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turn white.

Truthfully? I shouldn’t be driving. The lines in the middle of the road are squiggly in my eyes and I can’t tell if they’re double yellow or white dotted. There’s a stop sign in front of me, but I can’t tell if it’s on the right side of the road or the left side of the road because every time I look at it and blink, it’s doubled. My foot is on the gas and my hands are on the steering wheel, but I honestly don’t feel like I’m driving my car. I feel like my car is driving me.

“Guys, I really need to know where I’m going!” I squint to try and make sense of the curves in the road ahead of me. 

The only places I can go right now are home, Rachel’s house, or to the movie theater. Those are the only three routes I know like the back of my hand, the only three routes I can drive with my eyes closed… which is what I feel like I’m doing. I’m used to driving home from school, that’s a breeze. I’m also used to driving to Rachel’s house from school, that’s a breeze too. And I got accustomed to driving to the movie theater from school back when I was pregnant, because me and Mercedes went after school all the time. Asking me to go anywhere else with the way I’m feeling right now… I will wreck and we will die.

“Go to my house!” Santana yells. “Or no, wait, my abuela will know something’s up. Go to Brittany’s!”

“I don’t know how to get to Brittany’s house from here!” I’m trying my best to stay calm but honestly, I’m starting to panic. I really can’t see the road and if I knew I was going to have to drive so soon after drinking, I wouldn’t have drank. We’re one wrong turn away from becoming a page in the back of the yearbook that says “In Memoriam.” We’re one wrong movement away from dying and I can’t have killing everyone in this car on my conscience…

“Rachel…? Your house?” I ask, voice trembling and unsteady.

“Huh-uh,” Rachel shakes her head. “My dad won’t be home until later and I didn’t bring my key. I didn’t expect to be home so early!”

“We can’t go to my house, either. If Mercedes’ mom and dad find out I’ve been drinking tonight, I’m DEAD…. guys, I’m gonna pull over… I’m gonna pull over, okay?”

“Quinn, what?!” Rachel looks at me like I have lobsters crawling out of my ears. “We’re in the middle of the street, there’s nowhere to pull over right now!”

“Just to go to Brittany's house, I don’t understand what’s the big damn deal!” Santana leans up into the front seat. “I’ll tell you how to get there from here, all you have to do is listen to me.”

“Yeah, we can go to my house,” Brittany says. “We can climb through the window like Spider-Man. My parents sleep like sloths up in their trees, they’ll never hear us.”

“So it’s settled!” Santana yells at me. “We’re going to Brittany’s. Now make a left at this light!”

“Santana, I am NOT driving anywhere that I don’t know how to get to right now! You don’t understand!” I reach down and swat at my radio’s power button to turn it off because I don’t need the unnecessary distraction of music. “...I’m drunk, guys. I am so drunk I can barely see straight, I can’t even see the light you’re talking about. I’m drunk and I really need you three to shut the hell up and let me concentrate before we die because trust me, I’ve been there, I’ve almost died, and it’s NOT fun! So shut up!”

Just like that, silence falls deaf throughout the car. Santana sits back, Brittany puts on her seatbelt, and Rachel reaches across the console and puts her hand on my leg for reassurance. I’m not saying that I don’t care about Santana and Brittany, because I do. I care about them a whole lot and they’re two of my best friends. We’ve been through hell and high water together, and they’re my Cheerios sisters for life. I love them. But if I ever needed a reason to concentrate and focus all of my attention on driving this car as safely as possible, that reason is to my right.

My reason is sitting with her feet planted firmly on the ground and a seatbelt across her chest. Her hair is a little messy and her face is bruised, but I still think she could walk into a modeling audition and book anything on the spot. Her hand is on my thigh, her eyes are staring straight ahead at the road, but I can tell by the way she’s touching me that she believes me. She’s every reason in this world for me to live. She’s every reason in this world for me to try and sober up behind this wheel and get us somewhere safe. Because the world needs her in it.

“...You guys wanna go see a movie?” I ask, cutting through the silence as I make the turn that’ll lead us there.

To that?

The three of them just nod.

* * *

When I pull into the parking lot of the movie theater and turn my car off amongst the sea of other cars that were once full of people like us — people with nothing better to do on a Saturday night — the air inside between us is quiet.

Rachel rode the whole way with her hand on my leg, and Santana and Brittany were silent. A few miles before we made it here, my vision tightened up. It wasn’t perfect, but I was able to see a little bit better and I know that I’m sobering up because my stomach was hurting before and now it’s not. Not to be dramatic, but that was the scariest thing I’ve ever had to do and I fully intend on never doing it again.

I pull my keys out of the ignition and wait for someone to be the first to open their door. But maybe they’re waiting for me to the ringleader, for me to be the one to break the stillness inside the car and pull the lever to open my own door… because nobody ever does. Not Rachel, not Brittany, not Santana. The four of us all sit, motionless and quiet, in my car.

It’s awkward, silent like maybe we’re all waiting for something that none of us will do. It’s an awkwardness that I honestly can’t stand, so I turn around in my seat to look in the back at Santana and Brittany, just to make sure they’re okay.

And that’s when whatever was holding us all together snaps and breaks.

Because as soon as I turn around and look at them, Santana’s lips quiver and she looks over at Brittany. Brittany’s lips are pursed together, trying to hold something back but clearly almost failing. Then I look at Rachel, whose head is geared towards the ground, but she has that look on her face that lets me know that she’s waiting for someone else to do it first so she won’t be the first one to crack. For once, I don’t have a problem being the first one to crack, and I can’t hold it in anymore.

It starts out slow, you know? Like thunder rumbling miles away but you know it’s coming closer to you and all you have to do is get ready for it. It starts in the pit of my stomach, softly so all I’m doing is letting air out through my nose while my shoulders hunch. But as it builds up, it’s too powerful for me to contain it anymore. So I open my mouth, and I let it all out.

Then the three of them all join me.

Laughter is like water running between rocks or the wind blowing between leaves. The breath drawn in, then the exhalation. It’s like a force that pushes us all forward, past everything that happened tonight. It pushes everything forward in your body, too. The pulse, the blood, the heartbeat. It’s the soul of everything.

Tears roll down my cheeks and my stomach is sore like I just did a thousand sit-ups, but man… I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world.

“Your — Your f-face… Quinn, your face...when… when that girl… when she punched Rachel was HILARIOUS!” Santana holds her stomach as tears drip onto her dress. “Ahh, I wish I got that on camera!”

“And the way you just DOVE on her!” Rachel wipes her tears with her thumbs. “It was like a lion hopping on a gazelle or something! You went feral!”

“You were choking her!” Brittany shakes her head at me and snorts when she laughs. “You hopped on her back and choked her!”  _ What? I did…? Oh my… _

“Her eyes! Her eyes! She had the fear of god in her eyes!” Santana slaps the seat three times as she tries to catch her breath. “I saw the life draining out of her eyes… you just wouldn’t let go!”

“Wait, guys, no,” Rachel is able to compose herself for a moment. “You know in the cartoons when someone grabs someone by the throat? And their eyes pop out?!”

As soon as she says that, another wave of laughter comes over us and I swear we’re laughing so hard that the car is shaking. Even I’m laughing, and I would never find it funny that I choked someone like they’re saying I did… but man… you have to admit it! Me hopping on someone’s back and choking them is a really funny visual…

“Her eyes were popped out! They looked so round and beady!” Rachel laughs so hard she accidentally hits her head off the headrest.

“And I lost count of how many times you called her a tramp!” Brittany snorts yet again. “All I heard was ‘little tramp this’ and ‘little tramp that.’ I can’t even remember you saying anything else. Just that.”

“And Rachel… you kept looking at me like ‘should we pull her off? She’s gonna kill her’ and I was just like… let her!” Santana starts winding down. “You really thought Quinn was gonna kill her!”

“I did!” Rachel admits with a huge, amused smile. “I’ve never seen Quinn so angry! She didn’t even care that Sue Sylvester was coming over to break it up! She just kept choking her and choking her and calling her a bitch! I was like ‘dude, we have to do something!’”

“I don’t even remember what I did,” I shrug my shoulders and admit it as I wipe the tears from my own eyes. “I just saw her punch Rachel and literally, everything went dark. I was like blind or something.”

“I didn’t even know she punched me until like ten seconds after. I was in SHOCK. I thought Santana did it for a second. I was like… dazed or something. I thought Mercedes hit me hard when she slapped me but that was otherworldly,” she shakes her head. “That was like, ridiculous.”

“I know, I saw her hit you and I just snapped. I thought I punched her back but you guys are saying that I just choked her out, so like… I dunno!” I lean over to get a better look at Rachel’s face.

“Oh no, you punched her alright,” Brittany nods her head. “And I think you bit her too.”

“I bit her?!” My jaw drops. “How did I bite her?! Why didn’t you guys stop me?!”

“You went crazy!” Santana says. “She punched Rachel and then you sucker punched her back, like right in the nose, and was like ‘how do you like it, bitch?!’ Or something like that you said. And she like, fell backwards or something, I don’t know. And then you just… dove on her.”

“Someone pushed her into you.” Rachel starts with the details that Santana couldn’t remember. “You punched her so hard that she fell backwards into Rick Nelson and made him spill his drink. So he pushed her back and she fell into you and you took that so personally. Then you just jumped on her back and started choking her.”

“Yeah, and then she was trying to get you off by smacking your face. So you bit her hand,” Brittany chimes in.

“Whole time we were trying to get you off, and you were screaming ‘not until she apologizes to Rachel!’ It was wild, girl. Just wild.” Santana laughs a little. “Then coach Sylvester started coming over so I pulled you away and we ran. I wasn’t getting caught with booze.”

“I can’t believe you guys let me beat her up like that. I mean I know I overreacted, so you guys could’ve just been like —“

“I don’t think you overreacted. Not at all,” Santana puts her hand on my shoulder for a small moment of reassurance. “If I saw someone punch Britt, I would’ve gone crazy too.”

“Yeah, same. I’m not gonna let someone punch Santana in the face. I mean I might not have choked her like you, but I definitely would’ve like, let Lord Tubbington scratch her or something.”

“You know I don’t fight, Quinn,” Rachel sticks her tongue in her cheek and winces at the pain a little. “But I would fight someone for you. And I really do appreciate you doing that for me.” She reaches over to hold my hand. “I love you.”

I want to kiss her and I know that Santana and Brittany wouldn’t judge me if I did, but it still feels wrong to kiss her in front of them for some reason. I know it’s probably just the internalized homophobia talking, but it’s loud enough to make me just smile at her back. And the great thing about Rachel is that I don’t have to say it back for her to know that I mean it. I love her too and I know she knows it.

* * *

“So…” I exhale a deep breath. “Pet Sematary, It: Chapter Two, or that Curse of the Woman movie? All three of them have a 9:00 show that we can make if we run.”

“It’s sold out and so is Pet Sematary,” Santana mumbles to me as the three of us look at the marquee scrolling across the ticket booth we’re standing in front of.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rachel’s shoulders relax a bit at the mention of the two movies being sold out. She doesn’t like scary movies, but she’s willing to go see one since we’re all together and I promised her that I’d hold her hand the entire time. So even though there’s a bunch of people around and some of them are already staring because the three of us are all dressed up in jazzy outfits with high heels, I reach over and hold her hand anyway.

“That one movie isn’t,” I suggest as I squint to see the marquee a little better. “The… The Curse of La Llorna. That isn’t sold out. We can go see that one.”

“Okay, works for me,” Santana shrugs and walks up to the ticket vendor with confidence. 

The older, white-haired lady looks up with an unamused look on her face and clears her throat before she starts to speak, “What can I get for you?”

“Four tickets to The Curse of La Llorna please,” Santana uses her fake nice voice and steps aside to make room for me since I’m the one footing the bill.

“You’re aware that the movie you want to see is an R-Rated movie, aren’t you?” The lady looks at the four of us with squinted, annoyed eyes. “R-Rated means no entry for those under the age of 18. Can I see some identification?”

“Are you serious?” Santana asks her. “We’re clearly all 18, here. What’s your problem?”

“Yeah, I come to this movie theater all the time. I never have any problems. I’m 18, nobody ever cards me here,” I lie so smoothly that I scare myself a little.

“I don’t think I ever got an ID,” Brittany sounds super confused, so Santana steps in front of her almost like she’s protecting her.

“I just turned 18 on the 18th,” Rachel chimes in and does her absolute best to lie, but a lie sounds weird rolling off her tongue. “We’re all 18 here, ma’am. We promise.”

“Isn’t that lovely?” She smiles like she gets genuine pleasure from denying us. “Unfortunately, you four aren’t going anywhere until I see some ID. You’re welcome to try a G rated movie or a PG-13.”

I’m a roll tonight with my anger, but luckily for this bitter old bat, I’ve gotten myself under control. And she didn’t hit Rachel, so I can call off the rabid dog inside of me.

The plan formulates in my head smoothly, like when a knife cuts through soft butter. It’s moments like these where I wonder if maybe the original sneaky, conniving old Quinn Fabray is actually still inside of me somewhere. It’s moments like these when I can actually feel her coming out and oozing through my pores. I thought I’d given up my devious ways. But the way this cunning little smile wipes so easily across my face, I know I’m wrong.

“Okay, fine,” I sigh to feign genuine disappointment to the stupid woman. “Four tickets to Frozen 2, please.”

“What?!” Santana exclaims and tilts her head at me like she can’t believe I would betray her. “I am NOT about to go see some kiddie movie all because this hag thinks that we’re —“

“I know, it’s annoying, but seriously guys,” I look at the three of them and I’m playing this off so smoothly that I really do think I deserve an Oscar. I’m really killing it right now. “It’s Saturday night and we came here to see a movie. We have nothing else better to do… why not spend our Saturday night watching a stupid little kids movie that we can all make fun of and throw popcorn at the screen?”

“I’m in,” Rachel shrugs. “I mean, she’s right. What else better do we have to do?”

“Fine,” Santana rolls her eyes.

“Wait guys, I’m really confused. Is the movie theater frozen?” Brittany stares blankly ahead and she makes me laugh without even trying.

“Four tickets for Frozen, please,” I say as I hand the old bitch my credit card that my parents will probably stop paying on any given moment.

The bitch gives us an evil, satisfied grin as she hands me back my credit card and the four slips of paper she calls tickets.

L

“Enjoy your show,” she says with such a splash of arrogance that it takes everything in me not to reach across the counter and slap her silly.

But I’m still playing it cool, so I just take my card out of her old, skeletal hands and smile back, “We will.”

As we move past the ticket booth and on to the snack counter, I can feel Santana’s annoyance. It’s so palpable and so crystal clear that it shines through when she asks the concession stand worker for a medium popcorn and a large blue raspberry slushie.

“You want anything?” I ask Rachel as I gently pull a piece of fuzz from her hair. “Candy? Popcorn? A drink?”

“Whatever you want, Quinn,” she puts her head against my shoulder. “I’ll pay this time.”

“Don’t worry about it, I got it,” I whisper to her and step up once Santana is done ordering. “Popcorn?”

“Mhm,” she nods.

“Slushie or pop?”

“Either,” she shrugs. “...How about a pop-flavored slushie?”

“Coke slushie okay?”

“Perfect,” she giggles. “...Reese’s Pieces?”

“Reese’s Pieces,” I nod and step up to the vendor. “I’ll have a small popcorn, a large Coke slush, a box of Reese’s Pieces, and a box of Junior Mints, please.”

“That’ll be $40.79,” the guy says with his hand held out for my card.

“I’m also paying for the medium popcorn and the blue slush the girls ahead of me got,” I let him know as I fish my card back out of Rachel’s wallet again.

“Okay, it’s $57.83 now,” he says again and takes my card when I hand it to him.

“Thank you,” I say as I take it back after he swipes it.

After me and Rachel get our food, we meet Santana and Brittany over at the straw station, as they’re both already stuffing their faces with popcorn. I didn’t realize how hungry I actually am until I smelled the buttery goodness that Rachel’s holding. I can’t wait to sit down and eat it.

“I can’t believe you’ve got me going to see a stupid little kid movie,” Santana grumbles at me as we walk through the ropes to hand the host our tickets. “We could have gotten into that other movie if you let me go at her a little longer. All I had to do was accuse her of discriminating against me because I’m Latina, then threaten to call the League of United Latin American Citizens on her and that would’ve gotten us in.”

“Oh, shut it Santana,” I roll my eyes playfully at her. “Just because we got tickets to a stupid little kid movie doesn’t mean we’re actually going to SEE a stupid little kid movie,” I smile at her as I lead the three of them past the theater for Frozen and straight to the theater of our R-Rated movie.

“Quinn…” Rachel stops dead in her tracks and freezes up. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“It’s fine, babe, people do it all the time,” I hold the door open for them and Santana and Brittany file right in, laughing at how rebellious we are. “Me and Mercedes did it all the time when I was pregnant. It’s fine.”

She thinks about it for a split second, and I can see the decision calculating on her beautiful face. 

Before long, she shrugs her shoulders and walks to the door right along with me.

* * *

For the second time tonight, I find myself running barefoot through a parking lot with three of the best people I know, trying to get to my car before some dark, unseen force catches up with us. The difference this time is that the dark, unseen force actually has a flashlight and is actually chasing us and is actually right on our heels.

I know it was that old woman’s fault that we got caught. I’ve snuck into at least a dozen movies in my day and never once have I been caught until tonight. Security doesn’t usually scan the theaters and try to check tickets, they only did that tonight because that old woman was onto us and sniffed us out. Twenty minutes into our movie, when Rachel was hiding her face because that movie was indeed the scariest shit I’ve seen in a long time, the door whistled open. And flashlights streamed into the theater. And guards came down every aisle asking to do ticket checks.

As soon as we saw a couple three rows away from us scrambling to pull out their tickets, the four of us ditched our popcorn and candy and slushies (that were almost gone thanks to how much we scarfed down our throats during the previews), and quietly exited the theater. We were almost to the door when we heard the old woman tell someone that we were “right there!”, and that’s when we all kicked our heels off once again and ran through the parking lot to get to my car.

This time, I’m sober and not woozy anymore, so I’m able to shove the key right into the ignition and step on the gas before Brittany’s door is even shut in the backseat. She has to pull it closed as my tires peel off the asphalt and onto the highway that led us here.

“I swear to god I am SO done hanging out with you three!” Rachel breathes heavy, trying her hardest to buckle her seatbelt again. “I am done! I am done, I am done, I am done! I’m tired of running from people, I’m tired of getting in trouble, and my feet are FREEZING!”

“Oh shut it,” Santana pulls her flask from her boobs in the backseat and throws the stray pieces of popcorn that fell down her dress out the window. “This is the most fun you’ve had in your entire life!”

“Santana, you have anymore alcohol in that flask?” I ask, purely out of curiosity.

“No, it’s empty,” she sighs. “The night is still young and I’m not drunk. And I don’t even have a clue where we could get more.”

“It’s fine,” I shrug. “I was just gonna say that we could go to the park and get shitfaced together, but we don’t have anymore alcohol.”

“We still can!” Rachel beams, but I can tell that she regrets the statement as soon as it comes out of her mouth. “Get… drunk I mean…” her voice fades.

“How are we getting drunk with no booze, dumbass?” Santana whacks the back of Rachel’s seat and that kind of annoys me. “I can’t steal anymore from my abuela, she’ll notice.”

“I can get it,” she mumbles and twirls her thumbs nervously. “I can get it from my dads…”

“Rachel,” I shake my head. “Don’t. I don’t want to —“

“It’s not like they’ll notice,” she interrupts me. “I’ll just sneak inside real quick, grab a bottle out of the liquor cabinet, and bam. We’ve got alcohol. They won’t notice. They don’t notice anything anymore.”

“Yeah, but what if —“

“Quinn, please,” she closes her eyes like she does when I’m frustrating her. “Let me do this. I… I don’t want tonight to end, okay? Lemme do this.”

“Fine,” I mutter.

“So then it’s settled,” Santana claps. “We’re going to the park and getting drunk!”

I still don’t like the idea of Rachel stealing alcohol from her house, but she’s pretty married to the idea of doing it and I know she’s going through some rough times right now with her dads separating. I don’t want to argue with her or anything, so if she wants to steal the alcohol, fine. It's not worth arguing with her and ruining a great night. Especially whenever she’s right. Her dads won’t notice. They don’t even notice that their daughter is acting out and defying them. Why would they notice alcohol missing?

Since I’m not drunk this time around and I can actually see the road, I turn my radio back on and turn it up so loud that I could probably blow out my speakers. A song is already playing without me having to even connect to my Bluetooth, so I glance down at the screen for a moment just to see what’s going on. lol and behold, my car recognized Rachel’s phone first since she was the first one to get into the car, and it’s her phone that’s playing the music.

“Rach, your phone’s connected to my car,” I mumble and bank a right turn to get to a gas station before I run out.

“It’s playing from my Pandora, I think. It’s on Fifth Harmony radio. I can change it if you guys want me to,” she offers.

“No, this is fine,” Santana says. “Just turn it up, I actually love this song.”

Rachel leans forward and turns it up even louder than it already is, and I have that tingly feeling that I had at the homecoming football game. Charlie in my favorite book, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, described it as feeling infinite. I have that infinite feeling again, where it’s like nothing else in the world will ever feel quite as right as this feels right now. It’s just good people and good music… and a few Glee kids singing along to the final chorus of a really good song.

** _“SHOUT OUT TO MY EX! YOU’RE REALLY QUITE THE MAN!” _ ** We all scream the lyrics at the tops of our lungs and somehow, we still sound amazing. Maybe Mr. Schue should give us a song to sing so the four of us can blow the entire club away…  ** _“YOU MADE MY HEART BREAK AND THAT MADE ME WHO I AM! HERE’S TO MY EX! HEY LOOK AT ME NOW! WELL I’M ALL THE WAY UP I SWEAR YOU’LL NEVER, YOU’LL NEVER BRING ME DOWN!” _ **

When the song ends and the next one starts, I find it really hard to believe that it’s on shuffle. Shuffle means that it’s a pure act of destiny playing this song right now, it means that the stars all aligned perfectly and some measure of fate decided that this is what I need to hear right here, right now, in this car with three of the people who know some of the darkest, ugliest sides of me.

This song playing right now makes me really believe that everything is going to be okay.

** _“I’m breaking down gonna start from scratch…” _ ** Rachel starts singing first and I love how it’s just understood that we’re all going to take turns here.  ** _“Shake it off like an etch-a-sketch. My lips are saying goodbye, my eyes are finally dry.”_ **

** _“I’m not the way that I used to be. I took the record off repeat. You killed me but I survived, and now I’m coming alive…” _ ** Santana sings next and I feel tears coming on, but I’m able to pull myself together enough to sing the chorus with all of them.

** _“I’ll never be that girl again! I’ll never be that girl again! My innocence is wearing thin, but my heart is growing strong! So call me, call me, call me… Miss Movin’ On!” _ ** The four of us sound amazing together, even though my voice is cracking because these words… they just mean so much to me.

** _“I broke the glass that surrounded me. I ain’t the way you remember me. I was such a good girl, so fragile but no more…” _ ** Brittany sings this time, so I know next time is my turn.

And I open my mouth, tears rolling hot and thick down my cheeks…  ** _“I jumped the fence to the other side. My whole world was electrified. Now I’m no longer afraid. It’s Independence Day… Independence Day!”_ **

** _“I’ll never be that girl again!” _ ** The four of us start again but louder this time, with more confidence.  ** _“I’ll never be that girl again! My innocence is wearing thin but my heart is growing strong. So call me, call me, call me… Miss Movin’ On!”_ **

I take my hand off the steering wheel for a moment to wipe my tears because again, it’s understood between us that we’re all going to join in for this next part, just like the real Fifth Harmony does.

** _“Everything is changing and I never wanna go back to the way it was!” _ ** We all sing.  _ I don’t… I never want to go back to the way it was. I really don’t.  _ ** _“I’m finding who I am and who I am from here on out is gonna be enough! It’s gonna be enough!”_ **

I’m so glad Rachel takes the next part by herself because I’m crying too hard to really be of any assistance to anyone right now.  _ It’s just so true… I am finding who I am. And I really, really, really think that who I am is going to be great. I think she’ll be enough for me and everybody. I really think the world is going to like her. I think  _ ** _I _ ** _ am going to like her. _

** _“I’ll never be that girl again… no…” _ ** Rachel sings soft and pretty.  ** _“I’ll never be that girl again….”_ **

** _“My innocence is wearing thin but my heart is growing strong,” _ ** I still can’t join in when the three of them sing this next part hard, like the beat is hard when it drops.  ** _“So call me, call me, call me… Miss Movin’ On!”_ **

** _“Miss Movin’ On!” _ ** Santana and Brittany harmonize while Rachel sings the back up parts.

** _“On and on and on and on. On and on and on and on…” _ ** Rachel does some really pretty vocal runs and makes me smile.

** _“Yeah, I’m movin’ on…” _ ** I sing the last part all by myself and it’s quiet as the song winds to a close.

And I don’t think I need to look around and tell anyone for the three of them to know that we did something magical in this car

I can tell by the way everyone puts their hands on my shoulder that they know they did something special for me.


	79. Sober

It takes me a while to register where exactly in the world I am when I open my eyes.

Ever since I got out of the hospital and Mom had been forcing me to stay home from school until recently, I’ve gotten so used to waking up at around noon, but not really knowing what time of day it is because the curtains in my room are black and they keep out the sunlight. My eyes are usually met with a dull room and I’m used to feeling blankets against my bare legs because I don’t sleep in pants.

So it’s pretty needless to say that I’m a little confused when I open my eyes and have to squint because the sun is shining bright and spilling between open blinds and light green curtains. My cheek is smashed up against a silk pillowcase instead of my usual breathable cotton, and my body is wrapped and encased inside sheets that touch every inch of my bare, exposed, naked skin.

I’m a little less concerned when I take a deep breath and end up inhaling the scent of Rachel, though. If the light green curtains and open blinds weren’t a dead giveaway to the fact that I’m actually inside her bed instead of mine, then smelling the shampoo wafting off her silky hair would definitely be.

I roll off of my stomach and onto my side so I can grab my phone off her nightstand, and my elbow brushes against her soft, smooth skin.  _ So, we’re both naked. Not hard to guess what we did last night. _

I yawn so wide that it feels like my jaw is unhinged, then glance at the floor to see if maybe I can at least find my shirt. I don’t remember ever going home last night, so maybe I slept in a shirt that she gave me instead of a shirt that belonged to me. I can’t really tell though, because there’s just a big pile of clothes at the bottom of her bed and I don’t know what belongs to me and what belongs to her. If I had to guess, I’d say that the summer camp t-shirt was what I initially had on, and the Bette Midler Live! t-shirt is what she had on.

“Rachel,” I croak her name through my tired lips, and it’s only when I talk that I realize I have a slight headache. I lick my lips and I can still taste the sour alcohol burned against my tongue. “Wake up, baby.”

I lean a little closer to her and plant a kiss on the only part of her skin I can reach without having to move my sore body too much; her shoulder. She stirs softly, wrinkles her eyebrows, moans. This isn’t the first time I’ve woken up next to Rachel and it probably won’t be the last, but it is the first time that I’ve ever had to wake her up. All the other times, waking up was mutual, you know? I didn’t sleep in the same bed with her the night she was drunk and crashed at my house, I just texted her from the next room and asked if she was awake. Our alarms went off at the same time at sectionals. For my sleepover, I had my own alarm go off so I could get up in time to go to my session with Bailey. Today’s the first time we’re free to sleep in as long as we want; the first time I can actually coax her out of sleep.

...and I think she might be one of those girls who are really hard to wake up.

“Wake up,” I whisper again and all she does is dig her face deeper into her pillow.

A smile tugs at my lips because I think she’s just the cutest human in the world right now, and I swiftly decide against waking her up. Maybe she’s hungover from last night, because I kind of am. Or maybe last night just tired her out so much that she’s not ready to wake up, because it’s the same for me actually.

I stay rolled over on my side so I’m facing her back, but I drape my arms over her waist and hold her. She feels hot, and maybe I can just chalk that up to the air blowing off the little space heater on her desk, but I think she must be hot. So I pull the top layer of her quilt away from her body, but I keep the sheet over her. My fingertips graze her warm, sweaty navel, and I trace them from her stomach to her thighs. I can feel a very soft, fine layer of hair on her upper thighs and I think,  _ my god, she’s perfect. _

“Morning,” her sleepy voice cuts through the silence as a chill makes her shudder. She pulls her quilt back up to her neck then holds my hands against her legs. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” I nod and pull her body just a little closer to mine. “How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” she giggles then starts to roll onto her back. The blankets around her unravel and slightly fall down, and I kind of like the way she doesn’t feel the need to fix them. It means that she’s comfortable around me. Comfortable enough to let a part of her chest — just above her nipple — hang out. I try to remain respectful by not looking. “I can’t believe last night actually happened.”

“I know.” I grin as I stare up at her ceiling. “I can’t believe we didn’t get in trouble for anything we did. I can’t believe we actually got away with it.”

“I know!” She laughs gently then turns her head so that she’s looking at me. “I can’t believe we didn’t die, with you driving like that.”

“Oh my god, Rachel, I was so drunk,” I close my eyes and shake my head at the memory because honestly? It’s a freaking miracle that we didn’t wreck. I was in NO shape to drive. “I shouldn’t have been driving. Seriously. We should’ve just stayed at the dance. I would’ve just taken the fine for fighting if I had gotten one. That was so freaking stupid.”

“Yeah, but imagine what would’ve happened if Sue Sylvester caught Santana with that flask. You know how dead we’d all be? It’d be far more than a fine, we’d probably all be in juvie right now or something. At least maybe Santana would be. We had to run,” she rationalizes. “We had no choice.”

“Yeah, but I’d take juvie over being dead any day.” I mumble and continue to shake my head. 

I know she’s just trying to make me feel better and trying to make sure that I don’t beat myself up for doing something so stupid and reckless, but it’s honestly pointless. There’s nothing she can say that will make me stop believing that drinking and driving was as reckless as I’ve been in my entire life. It was selfish and it was stupid and I’m just glad that I didn’t kill anyone. I’ll never do that again. And I do mean never.

“...You think that girl is going to press charges on me?” I ask her, partly because I’m serious and I’m really wondering, but also because I just needed a way to change the subject.

“Gee, Quinn, I dunno,” she laughs so hard that the bed shakes and that’s the kind of laugh I like to get out of her. It’s the kind of laugh that reminds me that Rachel is happy. “You bit her!”

“I can’t believe I bit her. I totally had to have been drunk, I never bit anybody in my life!” I laugh too, but it draws to a close when I feel her fingers brush my hair away from my face.

We’re not currently having sex, but this is surely the most intimate moment of my entire life thus far. I never really imagined that I’d love somebody this much. I never saw myself being able to lie in a bed completely naked with someone, just soaking up their entire presence. To me, nudity always kind of meant that it was either before or after sex. It was before the actual deed, when the clothes came off and you closed your eyes and waited for it to be over so you can put your clothes back on. Or, it was after it was done and you finished basking in the afterglow, ready to put your clothes back on. I never thought that maybe nudity would mean that you trust somebody as fully as I trust Rachel in this moment. I never quite saw it as something so beautiful.

“Are you hungry?” She asks, looking at me from underneath her long, curly eyelashes. Her hand lingers around my temple, she’s not in a hurry to pull it away. “I can go make us breakfast or something.”

“No,” I shake my head slowly and stare at her. She’s the most beautiful thing in the world to me. 

It’s kind of scary to love someone this much, I think. It’s scary because when you love someone this much, they have complete control over you. They have the ability to break you and you just have to trust that they won’t.

“I mean, yeah, I’m hungry,” I continue. “But not yet… I wanna stay here. I wanna lay with you for a little.”

“We can lay here all day if you want,” she smiles at me.

And you know what?

That sounds perfect, actually.

* * *

“You like eggnog?” She asks me as she is knelt down in front of the mini fridge she keeps underneath her desk. “I know it’s like, hit or miss with some people. You either really like it or you really hate it, so I just got like, one of those really small jugs of it.”

“No,” I shake my head with my nose turned up just a little. “Gross. My sister goes absolutely nuts over it, but if I even smell it I’ll puke.” She laughs a little and nods her head like she agrees with me or something. “I’ll take water, if you got that.”

“Uh, no water I’m afraid. I got hot chocolate. Care for some of that? I made it the right way, too. With milk. Not that nasty watered down crap.” She kicks her fridge closed since I said no to the eggnog and pulls two Christmasy mugs from her bottom drawer.

“You made me hot chocolate?!” I gasp like the little kid that Christmastime always makes me feel like I am. “With milk?!”

“Of course I did, kid. It’s Christmas Eve! What’s Christmas Eve without a little hot chocolate?” She carries the two mugs over to a small, round crockpot and uses a plastic ladle to scoop it out and into them. “Easy on the marshmallows or hard on ‘em?”

“Put as many in there as you can fit.”

“That’s my girl,” she laughs and puts a handful of mini marshmallows inside both mugs. “I also brought gingerbread cookies if you’re interested in that kind of thing. I bought the kit for Quinn, but he did the whole gingerbread thing with his dad yesterday and he’s not into doing it again, so.”

“We used to decorate gingerbread cookies at my house all the time. I used to get so mad at my sister because hers turned out so nice and mine turned out like absolute junk.” I unwrap one of the peppermint candy canes laying on her desk and use it to stir my hot chocolate. “I’m not artistic, but we can definitely try.”

“You’ve been talking about her a lot lately,” she comments as she peels the plastic off the gingerbread cookie kit. “Your sister, I mean. You’ve been talking about her a lot lately. I assume things are okay with her? You guys still texting a lot?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “She wanted me to come see her over the break. She was going to pay for my plane ticket and everything.”

“That sounds nice!” She puts the cookie kit in the middle of our table and hands me one of the plastic knives to spread icing. “Are you gonna go?”

“I can’t,” I sigh. “My mom and dad said no. They said I’m still recovering and everything and they don’t feel comfortable with me traveling right now. They said they’d go with me but I was going to stay with Frannie and her boyfriend in their apartment. I don’t think there’s enough room for all of us to come.”

“You sound pretty bummed about that.” She sits back in her chair and watches me decorating a cookie instead of decorating one herself. “Were you looking forward to going?”

“I mean kind of, but I understand. I get why they won’t let me go, so I’m not mad. It would’ve been nice to go to Massachusetts to see her, but I don’t think I’m missing anything special. Honestly, Bail?” I look up from decorating my cookie. “I’m kinda just excited to spend Christmas with Mercedes’ family this year. It’ll be my first and I think it’s probably more important for me to be here with them than there with Frannie. I mean this morning, they did something really awesome. I guess every year, Dad has this tradition… I guess he goes out every year and buys the kids pajamas and snacks as presents. And on Christmas Eve, he lets us open them. So this morning, I woke up with a present on my bed and I was confused, but then Mercedes told me to open it. You know tonight, we’re supposed to put our new pajamas on after we take our showers. And our snacks? We’re gonna watch Christmas movies all night in our pajamas and snacks. And they do this every year, Bailey. Every year, and they don’t get bored. It’s… it’s a tradition. It kind of makes me feel like I’m part of something. I… I get Christmas traditions now. Never had that before.”

“That’s really great, Quinn,” she smiles at me like she’s genuinely happy for me and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that. Someone being genuinely happy for me, I mean. “It really means something to me that you’re thinking in terms of the future. It just shows me how much you’ve grown. You went from telling me that you didn’t think about colleges to telling me that you look forward to having Christmas traditions with your  _ family. _ ”

“Yeah…” I whisper. “I guess I kinda did.”

“You did. And I think that’s something worth celebrating.” She smiles at me again and finally picks up a cookie of her own to decorate. “Did you make a Christmas list this year?”

“No,” I shake my head and put down all my cookie decorations to really reflect on the answer I’m about to give her. “I know it probably sounds weird and dramatic, but…” I bite my lip. “...I didn’t want to ask them for anything else.”

“The Joneses?”

“Yeah,” I admit, a little bit embarrassed at the way I’m about to pour my heart out. “I guess I just feel like… like they do enough for me? I don’t know. I feel like they’ve already done everything for me. So I just… don’t want to ask them for anything else. Mercedes gave her list, you know? She wants those wireless headphones, a new pair of boots, a designer purse… Even Mykel gave them a list. I didn’t wanna feel left out, so I gave them a list… but… I don’t… know, Bailey.”

“Well what did you put on your list?”

“Stupid stuff. Like, a new toothbrush and John Green’s latest book.” I drum my fingers along the table. “Mom looked at it and told me that it was a great Christmas list, but I could see it in her eyes that she was confused.”

“Quinn,” Bailey takes a breath and stops decorating her cookie too. “Let me tell you something, kiddo. I understand where you’re coming from. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I understand why you’d feel like you don’t deserve anything else from them. But what I need you to start realizing is that when Jared and Patrice took you in, they made a choice. They chose to love you and support you and really take you in as their own daughter. I understand you’re grateful. I understand you feel like at any moment, they could just pull the rug out from under you, so you shouldn’t ask them for too much. But they love you. I’ve heard them talk about you, they  _ love  _ you. You are their  _ daughter.  _ You’re not disposable, Quinn. Stop treating this situation like they’re going to throw you out with the trash. Promise me you’ll try to do that.”

“...I promise.”

_ I guess she’s right. I guess I shouldn’t think that I’m exempt from the kind of unconditional love they give Mercedes and Mykel. I know it’s going to be hard to adjust my thinking. I know it’s going to be a long road of trying to trust that no matter what I do, they’ll love me as their own. But I do promise that I’ll try. At the very least, I will try my hardest to stop thinking that I am disposable to them — my mom and dad. _

“So,” she starts talking again after taking a bite out of her cookie. “What about Rachel?”

“What about Rachel?” I break off a small piece of my own cookie and pop it in my mouth.

“What are you and her doing tomorrow? It’s your first Christmas with her, that’s exciting. Tell me about it.”

“Rachel’s Jewish,” I don’t mean to rain on her parade when she sounded genuinely curious to know, but it’s the truth. We aren’t doing anything. “She doesn’t do Christmas. At least not the way we do. I mean her dads kind of adopt their own version of Christmas, but to be honest? It kind of sucks.”

“So what  _ does  _ she do? Did you get her a present? Are you gonna have dinner with her?”

“Well, usually, she and her dads go see a movie. They eat Chinese at their favorite place down the street, then they go see a movie. But this year, her dads… they’re just not in a great place with each other. So I invited her over for dinner tomorrow. She’ll come to that. She keeps saying that she’ll celebrate it for me, because she knows I grew up catholic, but shouldn’t it be me not celebrating for her? I mean obviously one of us is going to have to convert if we get married and have kids someday, but why should it be her?”

“Well who says you’ll have to convert? Maybe you won’t have to. Maybe you can find a way to do both. You can celebrate the Roman Catholic Christmas and Hanukkah.” She shrugs. “It’s kinda sweet how she says she’ll celebrate it for you, though.”

“It is,” I agree with a nod. “I asked her if I could give her a Christmas present even though she doesn’t celebrate Christmas and she said that she’d celebrate it for me. But I feel bad because I didn’t celebrate Hanukkah for her. I should’ve done something for her. I should’ve taken her for Chinese. We did the movie thing on Saturday and —“

“You saw a movie on Saturday?”

_ Oh god… this is a long story! _

“...Sort of,” I swallow a laugh. “I was getting there. I was going to tell you once we moved on to a different subject, I swear.”

“Okay, so now you’re scaring me!” She reaches over and turns the volume down on her radio. “Spill!”

“So you know how Saturday was the winter formal dance, right?” I swallow another laugh. “Well… it didn’t go as planned. Some girl started making rude comments about me and Rachel being gay, so I got in a fight with her. Apparently I choked her and bit her but I don’t remember it because I blacked out and —“

“You  _ bit  _ her?” She looks at me with the most confused look on her face, and it’s taking everything in me not to laugh. “Quinn, you’re not a dog! You know you’re not a dog, right?”

“Listen, I just got mad! But anyway, that’s not the important part. The girl’s gonna live, she’s gonna be fine,” I wave my hand at her. “The important part is that we literally ran away from the dance so we didn’t get caught drinking. We ran from the dance and then we went to the movies. We wanted to see The Curse of La Llorona, but it’s R-rated and none of us are 18 and the lady was being a dick about it. So we got tickets to see Frozen 2 instead and then we just snuck into the other theater. But then we got caught and had to run again. So then we got in the car again and we were bored because it was still early. And we had no alcohol. So then we —“

“Wait, back up,” she holds her hand up to stop me. “Who’s ‘we’? Just you and Rachel?”

“No, me, Rachel, Santana and Brittany. We all went to the dance together since we’re the only out gay girls in school.”

“Okay, okay. Gotcha. So what happened next? You said you had no more alcohol?”

“No, we didn’t. And Santana couldn’t go steal anymore off her grandmother because she’d notice, so then we went to Rachel’s house and let her go inside her dads’ liquor cabinet to get it…”

* * *

_ “How much did you get?!” Santana asked Rachel as soon as she got back inside the car. I could tell by the look on Rachel’s face that she felt the same exact rush that we’ve all felt when we did something sneaky and rebellious. It was fast, exhilarating. Maybe even a little addictive. _

_ She pulled the entire bottle of Fireball Whisky from underneath the slip of her dress and held it up for all of us to see. There had to have been no more than three small sips taken out of it. The bottle was practically completely full, the only thing that indicated it wasn’t was the broken seal. _

_ “How’s this?!” Rachel beamed, so very proud of herself. _

_ “Oh my god, it’s FIREBALL?!” I gasped, more surprised at the fact that she got  _ ** _good _ ** _ liquor than the fact that she got any liquor. I never doubted that she would go in and pull off the alcohol robbery without a hitch. In fact, I knew that she would. Ever since her dads’ relationship had been on the rocks, she’d been doing some pretty crazy things. _

_ “I never thought I’d say this, but Rachel Berry, you are my HERO!” Santana bounded to the front of my car and held onto the bottle as if she didn’t believe it was actually real. “We’re gonna get so fucked up off this…” _

_ “That’s the idea,” Rachel laid the sarcasm on thick and moved to buckle her seatbelt. “Come on, let’s move before my dad gets curious.” _

_ “Where are we going?” I asked and put my hand on my keys still hanging out the ignition. _

_ “Drive to the park,” Santana suggested. “We can go there and just drink and get shitfaced in peace.” _

_ “Anybody have any objections to the park?” I asked. “No? Okay, park it is.” I started to twist the key so I could start my car, but then a wave of nausea washed over me. In hindsight, I think it might have been my conscience telling me not to do something stupid for the second time that night. There was a full bottle of whisky in the car and I was about to drive us somewhere so we could drink it. _

_ “Actually guys,” I cleared my throat. “Why don’t we walk to the park? It’s not that far from here, it’s like, what? A block?” _

* * *

“Well, at least you did something responsible that night,” Bailey mumbles and scrapes some marshmallow fluff from the bottom of her mug. “You don’t seriously need me to tell you how stupid drinking and driving in the first place was, do you?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I got it, Bail. I’m beating myself up for it enough already.”

“Because you  _ do  _ know how incredibly stupid that was, don’t you Quinn?”

“Yeah, I do. Not my proudest moment.”

“Okay,” she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and I think that’s the first time I ever saw Bailey genuinely mad at me. “Continue. What happened when you guys got to the park?”

* * *

_ “Santana, truth or dare?” I hiccuped when I spoke, and my arms felt loose. Somehow I still managed to pass the bottle to Brittany, though. _

_ “Truth,” she answered, eyes barely open. “Make it a good one.” _

_ “How big are your boobs now?” I asked in a way so blunt that it only made sense if I were drunk. “And did getting them done hurt?” _

_ “It didn’t hurt,” she giggled uncontrollably like I had just told her the world’s funniest joke. “And they’re 34D now. And worth every penny, aren’t they Britt?” _

_ “Sometimes…” Brittany swayed back and forth with a funny looking smile on her face. “I try to see if I can fit the whole thing in my mouth.” _

_ The four of us laughed so loud that the bleachers we sat on started to ring. I couldn’t believe that it was cold enough for all of us to see our breath dispersing into the cold, wintry air. It was so cold that little icicles formed on the monkey bars. But none of us felt it. In fact, I was a little hot. _

_ “Rachel,” Santana took a long sip then passed it back to me. “Truth or dare?” _

_ “Truth!” Rachel spoke loud, but we didn’t say anything to her because there wasn’t anyone around to hear her anyway. “Give me… the truth!” _

_ “When’s the last time you were horny?” _

_ For a moment, I thought that there was no way in hell Rachel was going to answer that question. I thought that the invasiveness of it would sober her up quick and she’d politely decline and ask for a different question. But boy, was I wrong. She started answering it before Santana even finished asking it. _

_ “Eaaaaarlier,” Rachel sang with her head tilted to the sky. “Whennnnn Quinnnn was kicking some ass. THAT turned me on! I was gonna take her to the bathroom and rock! Her! World!” _

_ I started to laugh so hard that I snorted and the alcohol made my nose burn. I was in pain and fanning my face because my nose burned so bad, but I couldn’t stop laughing. I loved drunk Rachel, I decided. _

_ “Quinn!” Rachel screamed my name and wrapped her sloppy arm around me. “My beautiful, sexy, hot little piece of ass!” She laughed, burped, laughed again. “Truthhhhh…. or dare?” _

_ “Dare,” I shrugged my shoulders and took another sip of the alcohol.  _

_ The moon in the sky was starting to become blurry and I felt a cramp in my stomach. I don’t remember the last time I was drunk enough to throw up and yet there I was, feeling it rising. If I was sober, I would’ve worried about throwing up. I would’ve worried that my throat wasn’t healed enough for me to vomit. But I wasn’t sober and I didn’t care. _

_ “I dare you toooooo,” Rachel giggled. “Take all your clothes off… and jump in that lake.” _

_ “Fine,” I shrugged again and stood up. “But you guys gotta do it with me. I’ll only do it if you guys do it too.” I started by taking off the top of my dress. I stood in front of them in nothing but my bra and moved on to take off the bottom. “You guys coming?” _

* * *

“Isn’t there a name for that?” Bailey interrupted with genuine curiosity in her voice. “Taking your clothes off and jumping in water in the middle of winter. There’s a name for that, isn’t there?”

“Polar bear challenge,” I answer quickly, with a little bit of shortness in my tone. I don’t mean to be rude it’s just that I’m getting to the best part and she interrupted me.

“Yeah, that’s it!” She snaps her fingers. “Okay, sorry. Keep going.”

* * *

_ I don’t remember what was worse about doing what we did. I don’t remember which part was worse than the other. _

_ I held onto Rachel’s hand as we jumped into the water and it felt like a thousand knives were stabbing me all at the same time. Every nerve in my body was on edge, so very alive. I screamed and so did Rachel. Actually, the four of us screamed. We all screamed and raced each other to the edge of the lake, where piles of snow made a barrier to keep us inside. _

_ Jumping in hurt, but I think trying to put dresses back on over our wet clothes hurt worse. _

* * *

“Quinn, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep interrupting you, but I’m curious. You guys didn’t get into  _ any  _ trouble for this? No underage drinking charge? No public drunkenness? No assault? No trespassing? Nothing?” Bailey asks and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it sounds like she thinks I’m lying…

“Nope.” I finish off the last sip of my hot chocolate. “We didn’t get caught doing any of it. The girl I beat up could probably still press charges if she wanted to, but we didn’t get caught doing anything else.”

“So you four just sat in the park and got ridiculously drunk… and then what? Went home and crashed? Lived to tell me the story?”

“We actually walked to the Waffle House across the street to get some food. We had to try and sober up quick so I could try to drive Santana and Brittany home before their curfew. So we went and ordered like a hundred bucks worth of food and stuffed our faces.”

“Please tell me you didn’t drive at all. Even after eating, you never know if —“

“I didn’t, they ended up walking. I was still really drunk even after eating, so,” I roll my eyes at Bailey trying to play mother to me. “Rachel asked them if they wanted to stay at her house. We walked back to her house and I texted my mom and dad and said that I was staying there, so she asked if Santana and Brittany wanted to stay too. I guess Brit only lives like two streets away from Rachel, so they walked to her house.”

“Oh thank god,” she breathes in relief. “Rachel’s parents didn’t say anything? They just let everything go? They didn’t notice something was up?”

“Well not at first…” My voice trails as I think about how the blissful morning of us lying together naked after spending the night having ridiculously mind-blowing sex was cut short. “At first, we went down to her basement and took a shower so he wouldn’t hear us. It was like two in the morning when we finally settled down and got home, so we went downstairs and showered. Then we went upstairs and went to bed.”

“What do you mean when you say ‘not at first’ though?”

“Well… the next morning, she got in trouble. We went downstairs to make breakfast… or it was probably more like lunch at that point, but we went down there and her dads were both in the kitchen. They let us eat our breakfast but then after breakfast, Rachel tried to tell them that we were going out to buy Beth’s Christmas presents from me. But they got kinda mad at her. And loud with her. And they told her that she was staying in the house…”

“They yelled?”

“...Yeah. And it felt weird because they never yell, but they were like… mad, Bailey. Mad, mad...

* * *

_ “Me and Quinn have some running around to do today,” she said as she finished drying the frying pan that we used to make our pancakes in. “I’ll be back later.” _

_ Hiram took his glasses off and put them on the counter. He rubbed his temple with his eyes closed and I could see the color of his skin turn from ivory to bright red. It was like he was preparing to do something he didn’t want to do. Even LeRoy seemed weird. He gripped the edge of the kitchen island and tried his best to look stern, but anger didn’t look right on him. It looked weird. _

_ “I’ll eat while we’re at the mall, so you don’t have to worry about me for dinner.” Rachel continued and started wiping the stove clean with a dishrag. “And I’ll take the Capital One card just in case I see something that I want to get. I’ll just —“ _

_ “Rachel, we’re gonna need you to stay in the house today.” LeRoy said and his voice was low, gravelly and angry. _

_ “What?” Rachel chuckled like she didn’t think they were serious. “I just told you, me and Quinn have plans. We have to go out and finish her Christmas shopping for Beth. We wanna go today before everything gets picked over and —“ _

_ “You are staying in the house today, young lady.” LeRoy tried again, a little more stern this time. “You’re… grounded. That’s it. Yeah. You’re grounded.” _

_ “For a week.” Hiram nodded as his own little two cents. “No phone or… or going places. Nothing with Quinn.” _

_ “Wait a minute, this is SO UNFAIR!” Rachel was the first one to raise her voice. “You can’t do that! You two are barely —“ _

_ “Babe, I’m gonna… run to the bathroom,” I mumbled and left the room as quickly and swiftly as possible because it started to feel like it wasn’t my place to be there. _

_ “We don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but it has to STOP!” LeRoy raised his voice in retaliation. _

_ “What are you talking about?!” _

_ “We’re talking about your behavior! It’s unacceptable!” _

_ “Honey,” Hiram said. “You just haven’t been yourself. It’s like you’re angry all the time, you don’t listen to us anymore, you don’t respect your curfew or your chores. You don’t even go into the reflection room anymore,” I watched from around the corner as he tried to touch Rachel’s hair, but she shrugged him away. “Sweetheart, we’re worried about you…” _

_ “Now you’re worried?! You should’ve been worried about me when you decided to kiss another —“ _

_ “You watch your mouth!” LeRoy yelled this time, loud enough to silence Rachel. Loud enough to silence even me, because I stopped breathing. “This isn’t about what’s going on between us, this is about you. What’s gotten into you?! You leave without telling us where you’re going, you come home all hours of the night… we love Quinn, but you didn’t even ask us if she could spend the night. And now —“ _

_ “I never had to ask before! Now all of a sudden since you two can’t figure your relationship out, I have to ask to have Quinn over?!” _

_ “You do if you think you’re going to be having sex all night under our roof! What happened to keeping the door open when you have your girlfriend over?! What happened to the rules?! To basic respect?!” _

_ “Sweetie, what he’s trying to say is…” Hiram sighed. “There’s alcohol missing from the cabinet downstairs… I’m not trying to blame you, but what I’m saying is that —“ _

_ “You think Quinn did it?” Rachel laughs. “Well joke’s on you, because it was me. It was all me. And if you want to ground me for being a normal teenager and doing the things that normal teenagers do, then fine.” Rachel handed her phone over to them with no resistance. “But don’t act like you two didn’t know this was coming. I can’t be your little girl forever and when you two are too caught up in your own mess to take care of me, things happen.” _

* * *

“How did it make you feel to witness that? Did you think Rachel was right?” Bailey asks me.

“Honestly?” I sigh. “I was kind of glad they did it. I… I didn’t want to stand around and watch Rachel implode. And she was imploding.” I sigh again and glance up at the clock. “I guess time’s up for the day, huh?”

“For the day,” she nods. “One last question before I let you go through, Quinn.”

“Yeah?”

“When you said you went to the Waffle House and stuffed your face with food… how did you feel? Did you want to throw it up?”

“Honestly Bailey?”

“Honestly.”

“...No. I was just living in the moment and I didn’t think about it until now, when you reminded me.”

“...Merry Christmas, Quinn,” she smiles proudly at me and nods her head once.

“Merry Christmas, Bailey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last, guys! :(


	80. Thank You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t take credit for the poem written for Quinn at the end. All credits go to Kari Kimmel.
> 
> Also, I just want to thank all of you who have followed this story to the very end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you guys. I am so sad to see Quinn go, but I am also happy that she continues to live on in peace. I hope this ending is everything you guys wanted it to be, and I hope that it is exactly what was needed to bring this incredible journey to the ending it deserves.
> 
> I really hope to see you guys in my next story. If you haven’t already, check it out. It’s called The Keeper, and I hope you guys will like it.
> 
> Thank you ❤️

* * *

_ “Angels we have heard on high _

_ Sweetly singing o’er the plains _

_ And the mountains in reply _

_ Echoing their joyous strains.” _

It doesn’t surprise me when Mercedes opens her mouth and sings the part where the original artist of the song says “Gloria, in excelsis Deo,” but it does kind of surprise me how good she sounds without even warming up or anything. 

Believe me, I’ve always known that Mercedes is an extraordinary talent, but I’m a little more observant today and a little emotional. Ever since I woke up, I’ve been thinking about things more deeply than I’ve ever thought about them, and Mercedes’ singing voice is just another one of those things. I wish I had that kind of natural, raw talent. I know it probably looks really weird to everyone around me, but I close my eyes for a moment so I can take it all in.

“Come to Bethlehem and see Christ whose birth the angels sing,” Mercedes continues her effortless perfection, and she doesn’t stop until she shovels a forkful of powder sugared French toast into her mouth.

When Mom knocked on my door to wake me up this morning, I thought that I was going to be grouchy when I got out of bed because I could already feel the headache forming behind my eyes from not having slept enough. I thought that I was going to put on the pants to my new Christmas pajamas that Dad bought for me and stomp down the steps, irritated that I couldn’t sleep in on Christmas morning.

I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I’m sort of embarrassed to admit that it was because I was too excited.

I actually don’t remember the last time I stayed up on Christmas Eve because I was too excited to sleep. It was probably between the ages of three and seven because three was when I was finally old enough to understand that Santa brings presents, and seven was when Frannie ruined it for me. I missed the days of lying awake at night, bubbling with anticipation for the following morning. I used to lie awake and think of every naughty thing I’d done for the year, then try to determine if it was a “big bad” or a “little bad.” It was sort of like a game to wonder if Santa deducted presents for all of my big bads.

I was tired when we finally finished watching a nonstop marathon of “A Christmas Story” and decided to move on to “Home Alone.” I was yawning when Mykel asked to watch his favorite “Jack Frost,” barely hanging onto consciousness when Mercedes wanted to watch “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” It was finally my turn to pick the next movie and I took it seriously because it was the start of something new. It was going to become my tradition with them — the movie that we watch every single year — and I didn’t want to blunder it by making a stupid decision. Dad handed me the remote and I turned on “The Santa Clause” because that actually is my favorite Christmas movie. Somehow, I managed to stay awake throughout my movie, but when Dad finally turned the TV off when it was over, I was grateful.

I thought that I’d go upstairs and lie down and pass right out because I was exhausted. But as soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind was wide awake and I couldn’t shut it off. I felt that magic again. You know, the magic you used to feel when you were six-years-old, waiting up by the window to see if you could see Santa’s sleigh when it touched down on your roof? That kind of magic. That kind of pure, exhilarating anticipation. I felt that again even as my eyes grew heavier.

That kind of anticipation made it hard for me to sleep.

I had a thousand questions running through my mind as I shifted my position multiple times to try and get comfortable.

_ What do they usually eat for Christmas breakfast? What time do we wake up? Do we wait for everyone to wake up or do we all wake up at the same time? What order do we open presents? Do we eat breakfast and then open them? Do we open them and then eat breakfast? Eat breakfast while we’re opening them? What if Mom doesn’t like my gifts? What if Dad thinks his are stupid? What if they didn’t get me anything? I won’t care if they didn’t because they give me everything by just putting up with me, but it would suck if they didn’t get me anything… What are Judy and Russel doing? Are they sitting by the fireplace watching “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” like me and Frannie used to? Is Russel sneaking downstairs to lay presents underneath the tree for Judy? Is Judy still going to make scrambled eggs with bacon for breakfast in the morning? Will she still be drunk by noon so it doesn’t hurt so bad when Russel dashes off to spend time with his other woman? Who’s going to pick up the shattered glass when she gets so drunk that her sadness turns into anger? And what about Beth? What’s her first Christmas going to be like? Shelby’s bringing her over later so she can open presents with me, but I won’t see her on Christmas morning. I won’t be there to see her little face when she opens up a toy. What if she doesn’t like the ones I got her? And Rachel… I bought her these really expensive tickets to a broadway workshop. It’s supposed to be for aspiring actresses and apparently Barbra Streisand is going to be one of the instructors for it. What if she doesn’t like it though? _

You see? I had a thousand things running through my mind, and all of them were more scary than the next. But the scariest question came around 5:00 in the morning when I finally felt myself drifting off into a peaceful slumber. That question is still haunting me even now, four hours later.

_ What if I don’t fit in with their family traditions? _

I didn’t have much time to think about it before I rolled over and gave myself to sleep, but it was still on my mind when Mom knocked on the door to wake me up. I put my pajama pants on — the same red and black plaid flannel ones that both Mercedes and Mykel also have on — and held my breath the entire way down the steps. I glanced into the living room at first, and I was genuinely surprised when I saw just how many gifts ended up underneath the tree. It was a big jump from the three or four that were there when we went to bed last night.

I still don’t have the answer to my scary question, but I don’t think I need it.

Because sitting here at the table with my sister, my _ brother _, my mother and my father? I feel like I belong. I feel like maybe the four of them were a puzzle once upon a time; a puzzle with all the right pieces fitting and interlocking inside one another. And up until this morning, I wasn’t sure if I fit. But they made room for me somehow. They shaved their edges, rounded them a bit. Made some pieces smaller and some bigger, then rotated them. They made a space for me — for my puzzle piece — and now the five of us are a whole damn picture.

“Quinn,” Mom calls my name as she scoops more fluffy scrambled eggs onto my plate. “Baby, it’s your turn.”

“My turn…?” My eyebrows furrow in the middle, but I still grab my fork and prepare to stab more eggs with it. “My turn for what?”

“You pick your favorite Christmas song,” Mykel explains as he, rather disgustingly, squirts some syrup onto his scrambled eggs. “I picked The Temptations with their rendition of ‘Silent Night.’ Dad picked ‘This Christmas.’ Mom said ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You,’ and ‘Cedes picked ‘Angels We Have Heard On High.’ What’s your pick?”

“Um…” I swallow a mouthful of eggs and stare at Dad’s phone as Mykel slides it across the table at me. “What if I don’t have a favorite?”

“Everyone has a favorite Christmas song, Quinntessential.” Dad nudges me with his elbow. “First one that pops in your head when you think of Christmas music. First one. That one’s gotta be your favorite.”

_ Well, I like Ariana Grande’s Christmas stuff. Like “Santa Tell Me” and “Love Is Everything”, but I don’t think I’d say they’re my favorite. I also like the one we always sang in church on Christmas Eve, it was like “simply having a wonderful Christmastime” or something like that, but again…. it’s not really my favorite. I guess I could choose “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays” by N’Sync because that’s a really fun one… but no… I don’t know. Rachel sang something by Destiny’s Child yesterday and I liked that. So maybe that’s my favorite? No… Come on Quinn, think. It’s important. This is the song you’re going to pick every year at Christmas from here on out. It’s gotta be a good one. Think… _

“I do have one!” I scoop up the phone as soon as it comes to me and start typing it into the search bar on YouTube with a smile. “Me and Frannie used to play it on repeat every year while we were getting dressed to go to my grandma’s! And my mom… Judy, I mean, she used to get so mad at us because we would sing more than we would actually get dressed.”

“Alright then,” Mom grins at me with excitement practically oozing from her pores. “Let’s hear it.”

I tap the “play” button and turn the volume on Dad’s phone up so loud that the music is bouncing off every wall of the sweet-smelling kitchen. I guess I kind of thought that I wanted to keep this song all to myself. I thought that maybe it would hurt too bad to listen to it when I know it came with really good memories of Christmastime from the life I left behind when I came here. But oddly enough, I’m not sad at all. Mostly? Mostly, I’m just kind of excited to share it with them.

“Children sleeping. Snow is softly falling…” I start to sing and bob my head as I stab the last piece of my French toast with the tines of my fork.

“Oh my god, I love this one!” Mercedes puts her fork down the instant she recognizes the song and starts bobbing her head too. “Dreams are calling like bells in the distance…”

_ “We were dreamers _

_ Not so long ago _

_ But one by one we all had to grow up…” _

“When it seems the magic’s slipped away…” me and Mercedes sing together as Mom starts to clean up the table since we’re all finished eating. “We find it all again on Christmas Day…”

_ “Believe in what your heart is saying _

_ Hear the melody that’s playing _

_ There’s no time to waste _

_ There’s so much to celebrate.” _

_ “Believe in what you feel inside _

_ And give your dreams the wings to fly _

_ You’ll have everything you need…” _

“If you just believe!” Me and Mercedes sing together loud and obnoxious. So obnoxious that Mercedes actually wraps her arm around my shoulders and throws her head back to the sky, which makes me laugh. “IF YOU JUST BELIEVE!” 

“You two,” Mykel laughs and shakes his head. “You two were cut from the same cloth. Weirdoes.”

Me and Mercedes both laugh some more and I can’t help but think about how nervous I was to share this song with them. It seemed forbidden, like it was the property of me and Frannie and me and Frannie only. But now I’m starting to think…

Maybe this song is good for singing with any sister.

* * *

“Wait a minute, ‘Cedes.” Mom holds one finger up at Mercedes to halt her from tearing open the silver wrapped present that Dad just handed her. Mom takes the present back from Mercedes’ hands and looks at it like she’s trying to see through it or something.

There’s only three presents left under the tree and Dad already told us that the three left are ones for each of us. Mom’s just trying to figure out whose is who, I think. She said she wrapped them according to color: all the silver ones were Mercedes, all the green ones were Mykel’s and the red ones were mine. But I think she messed up a few times, because I ended up opening a pair of size nine Nikes that were meant for Mercedes a few presents ago. Since then, Mom’s been eagle-eyeing each gift before letting us open them. I told her it wasn’t a big deal to open a present and then hand it to its rightful owner, but she insisted that it’s not the same. She says she likes to see the looks on our faces when we open up our own.

Again, I don’t know why I was so worried before I fell asleep last night. I guess maybe I didn’t _ actually _think that the Joneses weren’t going to buy me anything for Christmas. I guess maybe I was being a little dramatic and pessimistic. I will say that I didn’t expect them to get me as much as they actually did, though. Especially considering how crappy the Christmas list that I gave them was.

Mykel mostly got some things for his dorm room and a few pairs of new shoes and a PlayStation 4. Mercedes got the designer bag that she wanted, new shoes, new clothes, a Northface jacket, AirPods, a new bedspread for her room, perfume and a pair of earrings. After seeing everything that they bought for Mercedes and Mykel, I knew that their gifts were really expensive. I kind of expected mine to be a little less expensive and maybe even a little general since I didn’t give them a list of things I would have liked and I didn’t think they knew me as well as they knew their own kids.

But I was wrong.

My first present was a pair of perfectly fitting, size seven, white Vans with rainbow soles. I absolutely loved those shoes the second I opened them and I thought there was no way it would get better than that. But it did. My second gift was the biggest one under the tree and I thought maybe Mercedes or Mykel would feel weird that the biggest gift under the tree goes to me, but they didn’t bat an eyelash. I opened it and was so surprised that Dad thought to buy me a new TV for my room since the old one is one of those ancient tube TVs. I thought that was it because there’s no way in hell they could top a TV, but the gifts kept coming! They got me new makeup from Sephora, my own pair of AirPods (which I didn’t know I really wanted until after I got them), lights to go around the mirror at my vanity, Turtles All The Way Down by John Green, a perfume and lotion set from Bath & Body Works, new underwear and bras (because Mom says the ones I have are so skimpy that they’re probably not comfortable), a rainbow pride flag that I can hang in my room, and a weighted blanket because Dad heard they help with anxiety.

I had to stop myself from crying at least a dozen times because… well, Mercedes and Mykel weren’t crying and I wanted to take Bailey’s advice and try to act like I am actually their child. I still don’t feel like I deserve all of that, but I’m trying to let myself feel like I do because I’m their child now.

“Quinn, this one’s yours,” Mom hands me the silver one that was in Mercedes’ hand once upon a time. “The red one is yours, ‘Cedes. I got them mixed up.”

“Thank you,” I say as I take the present from her and tear it open. “Oh my god…” I gasp as soon as I open the gift box and see what’s inside. _ It’s so pretty… _“Where did you get this…?! Are these actually hers?! Is this… oh my god… these are hers?!”

“Yep!” Mom sits back on the couch and looks at me with the proudest grin. “They’re the original ones, too.”

“No way!” My jaw drops. 

I hold it up so everyone in the room can see how special what they just gave me is. I don’t know how Mom and Dad knew, but they just… did. They knew somehow and got me the perfect gift! See, ever since I had Beth and handed her off to Shelby in the hospital, I’ve been kind of kicking myself because I didn’t get anything with her little footprints on it. I watched them ink her little feet and press them against a paper, but I never thought to ask them if I could have one for myself. I don’t know why, it just never dawned on me to ask. But now… I have them. I have her little footprints! They’re so tiny! And somehow Mom managed to get them laminated and put into a phone case for me! They’re actually INSIDE my phone case! They’re not a picture printed onto it, they’re her actual footprints!

“Oh my god, I’m never going to take it off…” I run my fingers along the smooth plastic and just stare at the two black inky footprints. “Where did you get these?!”

“Shelby gave ‘em to me,” Mercedes says and she has the smuggest little grin on her face. “At the hospital when you were still sick. I asked her if she had anything from the day Beth was born that she wouldn’t mind parting with and she gave them to me. She reached in her wallet and pulled them out and gave them to me. I asked her if she was sure, and she said yeah. She said she has a bunch of things to remember Beth’s babyhood from, it’s the least she could give you.”

“Oh my god… and you had them put into a phone case?!”

“Well, that part was Mom and Dad,” she nods in their direction. “I just gave them the footprints and they did whatever they could.”

“You can take ‘em out too,” Dad leans forward and takes the phone case so he can show me. “See? You can unscrew the plates right there and pop them out. So whenever you get a new phone or something, you can just put them in a different case.”

“This is so beautiful… oh my god…” I feel tears coming on for the 13th time, but I choke them back. “I love it, guys. Thank you!”

I spring up off my butt so I can give out hugs to the people responsible for giving me such an amazing gift. I can’t believe these are her actual footprints from the hospital. I can’t believe I actually have a piece of my little baby. I can’t believe Shelby let me have them… I have to thank her. I HAVE to. When she brings Beth over later, I have to hug her and thank her profusely for letting me have these… they’re so precious. I swear, I’ll cherish them forever. I swear I will.

“Alright you three,” Mom mumbles as she pulls out of the hug I gave her. She pats my butt in a very loving kind of way and stands up. “I’mma go get a garbage bag so we can throw all these wrappers away. Then I want y’all to go upstairs and start gettin’ some clothes on, ‘cause everyone comin’ for dinner at 3. I gotta finish cooking up some of that food.”

“Okay,” the three of us all mutter in unison and start crumbling up the wrapping paper that is scattered all over the floor.

“Quinn, is Rachel still coming over for dinner?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure she is. I haven’t talked to her yet today, but last time I checked last night, she was still coming.” I gather up all my Christmas gifts into one large pile so I can start carrying them upstairs once we’re done cleaning. “We still have to exchange our own gifts, so I’m pretty sure she’s coming.”

“What about that baby?”

“Shelby said she’ll bring her over around five. She mentioned something about maybe letting her stay the night but I dunno, I haven’t asked about it since she said it.”

“Mmkay,” Dad nods. “And ‘Cedes? What about Sam? He coming over for dinner?”

“Probably, yeah,” Mercedes opens the garbage bag that mom brought in the living room and starts stuffing it. “We still have to exchange our gifts too.”

“Mmmkay.” He nods again and starts to help us clean up.

“Hey ‘Tricey,” he calls to Mom, who’s busy helping Mykel pile his gifts up the way I piled mine. “There’s still a gift under that tree…”

“No there ain’t,” Mom waves him off. “I checked, we cleaned it out up under there.”

“Honey, I’m tellin’ you. There’s one more gift under that tree. Look.” He points to it and Mom still just kind of ignores him.

“Whatever,” she mumbles. “Quinn, go grab whatever it is under that tree and open it. I don’t know who it is. I know damn well I ain’t put nothin’ extra up under there. I counted. Y’all each got the same amount of gifts to make it fair.”

“Dad, maybe it’s one you got Mom?” Mercedes suggests as she finishes stuffing the last little bit of wrapping paper into the garbage bag. “You know sometimes you forget.”

“Yeah,” Mykel agrees. “You said you got Mom a few gifts but she only opened one. Maybe that’s another one of hers. What is it, Q-dog?”

_ Q-dog. That’s new. I kinda like it. _

“I dunno,” I shrug and pick it up. It’s rectangle-shaped and kind of flimsy but firm at the same time. It’s wrapped in gold paper with a white bow in the middle, so we can’t even tell whose it is by the color coding system that Mom had going on. “It feels like a picture or something.”

“Ain’t there a name on it?” Mom asks, still a little preoccupied.

“No,” I shake my head and study it for any sign of a name. “It’s blank. It’s just gold with a bow.”

“Hmph,” Dad grunts and sits back down on the couch, taking a sip of the beer he’s already been drinking even though it’s not even 11:00 yet. “Why don’t you open it and see what it is then?”

“Are you sure?” I try to hand it to him instead. “I don’t wanna open it. What if it’s like… a bomb or something?”

“You hear it tickin’?” Mom asks and finally starts to pay attention to me with the mystery present. “Or beepin’?”

“Well, no, but —“

“Just open it so we can see what it is,” Mercedes leans over towards me like she’s being super nosy. “I wonder who it belongs to.”

“Me too,” Mykel chimes in and sits back down like Dad did. “Weird how it don’t have a name on it.”

_ I feel like this is some sort of inside joke between the four of them that I’m not in on. Maybe another one of their traditions that I’m not aware of? I don’t know, they’re all just acting weird. They’re all saying that they don’t know where it came from or whose present it is, but it kind of seems like they do? It’s like they’re speaking in circles or in code or something. I’m completely lost… _

“You guys…” I feel my stomach start to ache a little. “You guys, if this is some kind of —“

“Good god, girl. Will you just open it so we can see who it belongs to?!” Dad huffs. “We ain’t got all day!”

“Okay…” I just shrug my shoulders softly and start by tearing off the bow. I toss the bow onto the floor beside where I’m sitting, then use the little hole I created from ripping the bow off to tear the rest of it open. And it’s pretty anticlimactic, because all it is is a smooth, plastic black folder. “It’s a folder,” I laugh a little. “It’s a gag gift!”

“Is it?!” Mom laughs too. “Now which one uh you little goof-asses did that?!”

The rest of them laugh right after Mom does and maybe it really was just a gag gift, but it still feels like they’re waiting for something. Like they seriously know something that I don’t know. Like something is about to pop out and scare me.

“Why don’t you open it?” Mercedes urges. “Maybe there’s money inside or something.”

“Or a gift card,” Mykel suggests.

“It doesn’t feel like there’s anything in it,” I say as I feel the folder without opening it. “It feels pretty flat… I dunno,” I shrug my shoulders again and flip it open on a whim since I’m pretty sure it’s too flat for there to be anything inside of it that might harm me or scare me.

“What are those?” Dad leans forward and asks as he studies the papers inside the pocket of the folder.

“Yeah,” Mom leans forward too. “What them papers say? Read ‘em to me.”

“Okay,” I lick my lips to start reading. “State of Ohio… Department of Health, Office of Vital Records…”

_ Oh my god… are they serious? _

“Mmmhh,” the noise that comes out of my mouth is one that I’ve honestly never heard myself produce before. It kind of sounds like a groan or a baby animal grunting. I clasp my hand over my mouth and close my eyes because the tears rolling down my cheeks are so hot, so plentiful, so THICK…

I can’t get my jaw to stop trembling. And my hands are trembling too, like something inside of my arm came unhinged and undone and I can’t control my hand anymore. I feel like I’m dreaming. I feel like I went to sleep last night and haven’t woken up yet and this is all some dream… I feel like I’m not real. I feel like I’m not really sitting here in front of them, reading this. I feel like… like how I always feel right before I lose myself and go wandering. It’s like the day I found out I was bipolar and left my body or the night Puck raped me and I ran and hid. And a little bit how I felt in the hospital when I was walking the hallways in search of myself. For a second, I feel like it’s happening again as I hold the folder open and stare at the papers inside of them. I feel like I’m about to dissociate again…

But maybe I really am getting better, because I tell myself that it’s not necessary — that this isn’t a situation I have to run and hide from — and I don’t. Just like that, I stay where I am and I don’t leave my body.

“Mmmh,” I make that noise again as more tears roll off my cheeks and onto my pajama shirt. I feel like a dam inside of me has broken and I may never stop crying…

“Well?” Mom says and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You gonna keep reading? I’d like to know what them papers say.”

“And me too. You can’t just keep us waiting.” Dad’s tone is playful when he speaks.

“Umm,” I sniff and try to use my shoulder to wipe my face free of tears, but it doesn’t work because more just fall. “Certificate of…” I sniff again. “Certificate of Decree of Adoption… this…” Another sniff. _ I can’t pull it together… _“Completion of parts I. and II. of this document hereby certifies and consents to the decree of adoption of…” My voice cracks just before I say my name because it… it’s official once I say it… “Lucy Quinn Fabray, born on the 11th day of the 11th month of November. Completion of these documents henceforth and hereby certify that Jared Langston Demetrius Jones, Jr. and Patrice Elane Jones will become the legal adoptive parents, and Lucy Quinn Fabray, a minor, is to legally become Quinn Fabray Jones…”

I put the papers down because I can’t read anymore. _ Judy really did it… she did it. She did it for ME, she terminated her rights for ME. And these people… these beautiful, kind, caring, people — this FAMILY... they want me. The real me. The gay me. The bulimic me. The bipolar me. The post-traumatic-stressed me. The good me, the bad me, the selfish me, the selfless me, the WHOLE me. They want me. Not just bits and pieces, parts that they can pick and choose to love and to hate. They want me. Me in my entirety. It’s not just in theory when they mail these papers back and the judge notarizes it. It’s not just in theory anymore, I am their DAUGHTER. Legally. I am theirs and they are mine. _

_ And maybe… just maybe… I get a happy ending after all. _

“You guys…” I wipe my tears with my hands and try to talk clearly, but I can’t. “You guys…” I hiccup.

“Quinn,” Mom walks over to where I’m sitting and kneels down on the floor next to me. “Baby, from the moment ‘Cedes brought you home last year and you looked at me with them pretty green eyes of yours…” she shakes her head. “...I knew right then that you were mine. I knew that this was where you were supposed to be. I knew that you were meant to be inside our hearts forever. I didn’t need no piece of paper saying that. You’re my baby. And I would love to have to… _ WE _would love to have you… if you’ll have us.”

“You already feel like my sister, Quinn,” Mercedes leans in and hugs me too. “You already feel like such an integral part of my life. We just wanna make it official.”

“There’s enough love to go around.” Even Mykel puts his hand on my leg. “And you a pretty cool sister to have, if I’m keeping it real. It does feel like you belong here.”

“You have always, _ always _been totally and completely my little girl,” Dad rubs my shoulder. “And you always will be, too. Always, honey. We ain’t ever gonna give up on you.”

“All you gotta do is say yes,” Mom strokes my hair away from my face. “We wanna be your parents for good. Alls you gotta do is say yes. That you’ll be our daughter.”

I look at each of them in their eyes and I can actually feel how much they mean it. I can feel that they’re not saying this to make me smile or just to be polite and make me feel welcome here. I can feel how much they mean it when they say they love me, feel how much they mean it when they say that this is where I belong.

I look down at the papers again, then take them out of the folder because I just want to hold them. I want to hold them and feel them and know that they’re real.

And when I take them out, the thing that takes me by surprise is the poem written on the blank space above the pocket. It’s written in mom’s loopy, neat, cursive handwriting.

_ For Quinn - _

_ If you’re feeling down or weak, _

_ You can always count on me, _

_ I will always pick you up. _

_ Nothing’s ever gonna change, _

_ Nothing’s getting in my way, _

_ I will always lift you up. _

_ I know sometimes you’re feeling lost, _

_ It’s hard to find your place in it all, _

_ But you don’t have to fear. _

_ Even when you mess up, _

_ You’ve always got my love. _

_ I’m always right here. _

_ Anything, come what may, don’t look back. _

_ Forget yesterday. _

_ It’s not where you come from, it’s where you belong. _

_ There’s nothing I would trade. _

_ I wouldn’t have it any other way. _

_ You’re surrounded by love and you’re wanted. _

_ So never feel alone. _

_ You are home with me, _

_ Right where you belong. _

_ ~ Mom, Dad, Mykel, Mercedes, Whitney Houston & Bobby Brown. _

I close the folder to keep my tears from dripping down onto it and smearing the blue ink pen that Mom used to write it. I close the folder and I look at them again.

“Yes.” I say.

* * *

_ December 25 _

_ I know it’s been a while since I’ve written in this thing and I hope that by some weird stroke of fate, I wasn’t too badly missed. _

_ They’re adopting me. It’s official, they signed the papers and so did Judy and Russel and all they have to do is mail them off to the judge to get them finalized. It feels like everything is falling into place and for once, I’m not afraid. You know, I used to think that things falling into place were just a set up for me to be disappointed and depressed when they fall apart again. I don’t think that way anymore. I don’t think that things are going to fall apart again because I think good things deserve to happen to me. _

_ And maybe things won’t always be alright, you know? Maybe there will be some days where I don’t want to get out of bed because me and Rachel had a fight or maybe I’ll continue to do stupid things like kissing Bailey. Maybe things from here on out won’t always be sunshine and rainbows. Maybe things will be terrible and not okay. _

_ But I have to trust that they will be okay soon enough and even through the rainy weather, the sun will shine again sometime. All I have to do is hold on. _

_ I want to tell you all about Christmas and how amazing it felt to be part of a family for once, but the truth is that Christmas isn’t over yet. Everyone is downstairs, including Beth and Rachel. We all just ate dinner and we’re getting ready to play family games and sing karaoke. I had to pee after drinking three glasses of wine, and I was about to go back downstairs when it hit me. I remembered that this thing was in my drawer and it felt fitting to get it all down on paper for the last time. _

_ When I thought about writing in this for the last time, I thought that my last entry was going to be pages upon pages of sadness and reflection. I thought that the last time writing in this would be because it was my last day on earth. So I guess in that sense, I’m sorry that this isn’t longer. _

_ I just want to write down that I am good. I have therapy and I have a family and a girlfriend who loves me and great friends surrounding me and two sisters plucked from the best of the best. I have parents who won’t let me fall anymore. I have people who care about me. _

_ I am good. _

_ I’m actually writing this to say goodbye. I don’t know if it’s going to be a forever goodbye or a simple “see you later!” but for now, it feels like a forever. When I opened this, I don’t think I knew that I was going to say goodbye, but when I started writing, it felt right. _

_ Thank you, journal. Thank you for being my friend, my mutual sounding board, my biggest confidant. Thank you for listening to me whenever nobody else in this world would, thank you for hearing me when I didn’t even want to speak. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me and everything you’ve taught me. _

_ I don’t think I’ll be needing you much anymore, but if I do? I’ll know where to find you. _

_ Thank you for healing me. _

_ I wish you (and me) _ _ all the best, _

_ Quinn Fabray. _


End file.
